


A Taste of Honey

by heathtrash



Category: Matilda (1996), Matilda - Roald Dahl, The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathtrash/pseuds/heathtrash
Summary: Gwen Bat and Algernon Rowan-Webb have gone on honeymoon, leaving Ada and Hecate to search for a supply teacher. The only person they can find, however, is non-magical witch enthusiast Jennifer Honey. Little does Hecate know, however, that Miss Honey is about to cause some serious disruptions to her world.
Relationships: Hecate Hardbroom/Jennifer Honey, honeybroom
Comments: 187
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate is less than enthusiastic about the concept of a non-magical supply teacher, and struggles with the prospect of making a good impression on her.

“But Ada—a _non-magical_ supply teacher? You cannot be serious.”

Ada peered over her glasses at Hecate, who was sitting stiffly on the edge of the chair opposite her, in her cosy office. The light falling through the window in shafts was brightly warming the already slightly stuffy room—it being a rare sunny January day, with the fire already blazing in the fireplace behind them. 

“Hecate, Miss Honey comes highly recommended from Miss Pentangle, who was so taken with her that she’s thinking of employing her as a full-time teacher for a more rounded education for her pupils.”

Hecate blanched at the invocation of Miss Pentangle’s name. That woman was a chapter of her life best left in the past, and Ada’s casual mention felt no less painful than a knife of icy steel plunged into her heart.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea—having the girls learn literature and mathematics and such, as they do in Ordinary schools,” Ada said with a smile. “Something we could implement here, perhaps?”

“I fail to see the relevance of the pursuits of Ordinaries to neophyte witches, but I suppose it is Miss Pentangle’s wont to find such far-fetched fancies to dilute the curriculum—along with art, horse-riding, and dancing,” Hecate remarked scathingly, her annunciation becoming increasingly more clipped as her vexation reached a crescendo.

“Try not to be _quite_ so narrow-minded, Hecate. There is much to be learnt from Ordinaries,” Ada returned, sharpness edging her normally amicable tones at Hecate’s bile. “While Gwen and Algernon are on their honeymoon, I simply had to find someone to cover their lessons, and Miss Honey was the only one who could be spared at short notice.”

Hecate’s lips pursed, and she took a sip of her tea for diplomacy’s sake to wash down her acrid words. “But she cannot perform magic, Ada. What will she do if something were to go wrong?”

“She has a magical daughter who attends Amethyst’s, so I am sure she is not unfamiliar with magical mishaps. And,” Ada smiled and held up a small golden bell, whose surface glimmered with a radiant magic, “all of us are a mere ring away. I have enchanted this to allow her to send a message to the nearest teacher, should anything go awry.”

Hecate straightened a stack of papers on Ada’s desk. “All the same, I should like to sit in on her first lesson, and I expect her to attend at least one of mine prior, in order that she knows the proper order of the way we do things at Cackle’s. She may have piqued Miss Pentangle’s proclivities for all things modern and unorthodox, but she will not as easily seduce me.”

Ada gave Hecate look of mild exasperation, putting her hand on the paper stack to stop Hecate further fussing over it. “Come now, Hecate, she will only be here for the fortnight that Gwen and Algernon are away. I am certain she will suffice for that purpose. And if not—then we never have to see the woman again. But she was rather lovely when I met with her for tea.”

Hecate breathed heavily out through her nose, eyeing the carved owl base of Ada’s lamp, before her gaze fell back to the sheet of paper detailing Miss Honey’s accomplishments. 

“Give her a chance,” Ada said, an imploring glint in her eyes behind her half-moon spectacles. “Jennifer did learn all about our world when she discovered her daughter’s powers. In fact, I remember Hextilda Amethyst telling me that she had written to her personally to ask if she could attend night classes to research more about our ways, just to help her daughter. And since then, she’s learnt everything there is to know about our world. She’s published extensively in sympathetic magical journals and been up and down the country in witching academies as a supply teacher—not yet registered with the Board of Education in the Council, but that will soon change, I’m sure.”

 _Jennifer Honey_. Hecate looked bitterly at the picture on the CV. She looked young—perhaps mid-thirties, by the date she took her initial teachers’ training course in Reading College—and pretty in exactly the type of way that Hecate knew would have interested Pippa Pentangle. Even her name spoke of something all too suspiciously sweet.

“If she is our only option, then I suppose we will have to accommodate her.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ada said, not sounding entirely convinced by her own words. “I hope you’ll extend the same degree of hospitality that you would to any of our usual supply witches. While she is not the ideal candidate in some small ways, no one has a bad thing to say about her—and I’m sure there’s a good reason for that.”

Hecate privately disagreed.

* * *

Hecate was not present to greet Miss Honey on her arrival; the Third Year prep she was marking was much more salient a matter than the appearance of a new supply teacher. Miss Honey had apparently _cycled_ some of the distance, according to Miss Drill, who had had to find a space in the broom shed for the bicycle. 

“I thought she’d be a bit more _fun_ , to be honest with you,” Dimity confided to Hecate over the staff room table as she picked up a bundle of her things on the way to breakfast. “But she was a bit boring. I asked her if she fancied racing my broomstick with her bicycle and she muttered something polite and walked off.”

“Perhaps she is taking her assignment here seriously,” Hecate said, not yet marking this as approval for Miss Honey, but taking her refusal of Dimity’s challenge as a sign that she had at least a sliver of common sense.

“I don’t think I’ve got much in common with her—not especially now she probably thinks I’m out to make fun of her for being non-magical—which definitely wasn’t my intention,” Dimity grimaced, before a spark of mischief twisted her mouth. “But maybe you’ll make a friend. She seems bookish.”

Hecate shot Dimity a glare that could freeze steam. “She is here to fill in for Miss Bat and Mr Rowan-Webb. She is not here to _make friends_ —no more do I wish to befriend her.”

Dimity rolled her eyes dramatically. Hecate pretended not to notice and resumed her work.

“Coming to breakfast, then?”

“When I am ready,” Hecate replied, not looking up from her marking to see which childish expression Dimity was pulling now.

* * *

Hecate transferred into the Great Hall by the teachers’ table. Breakfast was already served, with most of the girls mid-porridge, and the tea had already been brewed at the teachers’ table.

As she was about to draw out her chair next to Ada, to her chagrin, where there should have been an empty seat was a neatly-parted head of light brown hair belonging to a woman who could only be Miss Honey, sitting in _her_ seat. She twitched a finger irritably, and the chair opposite her usual one scraped out with an audible groan. Miss Honey jumped in surprise as the chair moved on its own. If something as simple as a chair moving was enough to cause her to lose control of herself, Hecate wondered how she would react to an actual disaster. She stalked around to the other side of the table to take the inferior position, which unfortunately did not offer her the view over the students’ tables where she could cast her hawk-like eyes over the potentially misbehaving young witches.

“Miss Honey, I’m sure you’d be delighted to meet Miss Hecate Hardbroom, my deputy headmistress.” At the subtle tensing of the tendon in Hecate’s jaw, Ada continued, a touch over-pleasantly to detract from the seething witch before them, “of course, Hecate doesn’t mind you sitting in her seat, Miss Honey. No need for us to stand on ceremony when there’s so few of us.”

Hecate locked eyes on Miss Honey. It had been easy enough for her to think of Miss Honey as being some kind of alluring seductress who had won Pippa Pentangle over with her pretty face and the novelty of her Ordinariness—but that had been before Hecate had actually met the woman, who, despite her apparent shyness and skittishness around magic, exuded a kind of comforting charm that Hecate found disturbing to her sense of propriety, even before a word had escaped her lips. 

Miss Honey’s nervous smile faltered. “Oh— is this your seat? I’m sorry, I had no idea—”

“Welcome to Cackle’s, Miss Honey,” Hecate cut in, silencing her babbling with the impatient outburst.

Miss Honey’s quiet, reserved-looking mouth betrayed no protest to Hecate’s interruption; she merely cast her eyes downward at her porridge as though she had been admonished. She was both like her picture and unlike it simultaneously—but perhaps that was merely due to the addition of the frames of her round glasses. Hecate found herself—confusingly—drawn into a moment of concern for her over her own brusque greeting, and suddenly wondering what colour eyes lay behind her eyelashes and the glasses that hovered over her striking cheekbones.

“Thank you. You’re the Potions teacher?” Miss Honey’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. Hecate’s stomach squirmed to see they were a deep brown, like her own. 

“I am.”

Miss Honey with a polite kindness that did not quite reach her eyes, which were still wide with alarm, said, “I hear Potions is quite a challenging branch of magic.”

Hecate tore her gaze away from Miss Honey, making a show of checking the tea pot to pour herself a cup, but it was empty. “It can be.”

An awkward silence followed. Dimity tapped the side of her porridge bowl with her thumbnail idly, while Ada’s eyes roamed between Hecate and Miss Honey, looking on the verge of intervening.

“Perhaps you would like to observe my lesson to become acquainted with our regulations and teaching methods,” Hecate said stiltedly, glancing at Ada, who gave the barest of nods of encouragement. An invitation was certain to be received better than a command.

“If you think that’s necessary, Miss Hardbroom,” returned Miss Honey, in a pleasant enough manner.

Hecate could hardly say _I do_ or imply that this was anything less than voluntary. “It might help you settle in.”

“Then that would be kind of you,” Miss Honey said warmly.

Hecate swallowed. The picture on her CV had been objectively attractive, but it had been not five minutes before Hecate had deduced that the real Jennifer Honey was unequivocally gorgeous, with a gentle sweetness to her personality that was going to become difficult not to become distracted by.

* * *

Hecate led Miss Honey to the potions laboratory without a word. She could hear the supply teacher struggling to keep pace with her long stride—for indeed, even though Miss Honey could be considered tall enough, Hecate towered over her. Hecate paid no heed to her plight and marched on at her usual speed. If she had to walk to accompany Miss Honey rather than transfer, then it would be on her terms. She was determined not to let her turn her head, whether with her ideas or her pretty face.

Hecate could have easily conjured a seat for Miss Honey at her own desk, but she indicated that she should sit at one of the unused laboratory benches. With her biro and spiral-bound notebook and doe-eyed fascination at the wonders of the magic surrounding her, dressed in a white floral-patterned shirt dress buttoned up to her neck and a pale pink cardigan, she could not look more Ordinary if she tried.

Hecate strode over to Miss Honey, who looked up from where she had begun to divide her page into sections in readiness for note-taking, and raised her eyebrows in question. Hecate stood over her, savouring in the potency of her authority over Miss Honey, who seemed naturally inclined to shrink with the slightest provocation. With an undulation of her fingers, a silken black ribbon appeared out of thin air and curled over Hecate’s palm.

“To tie your hair back. Loose hair is not permitted in my laboratory,” Hecate said as a means of explanation.

Miss Honey took the ribbon wordlessly from Hecate’s palm, careful not to graze Hecate’s skin with her fingers—for which Hecate was grateful—and passed the ribbon underneath her sleek hair that gently curled where it rested on her shoulders, a little pinkness creeping into her cheeks as she sat under Hecate’s gaze, and tied a simple bow around a low, loose ponytail. Hecate tried not to notice the newly exposed smoothness of the skin just behind her ear.

The bell rang, breaking the awkwardness of the moment—Hecate transferred to the door and opened it to permit the girls entry. They all noticed Miss Honey sitting alone at one of the desks, and wittered amongst themselves as they took their usual places beside their cauldrons.

“Silence,” Hecate susurrated—even the barest whisper was enough for her to command the room—and the girls’ chatter ceased immediately. 

“Today we have a guest joining us,” Hecate continued snippily. “Please extend a polite welcome to Miss Honey, who is to be covering Miss Bat’s and Mr Rowan-Webb’s lessons while they are absent.”

The girls craned their necks to see the slight figure of Miss Honey, who was perched on a stool exactly like theirs, on the spare laboratory bench. She smiled in response to the sing-song chorus of, “well met, Miss Honey,” and Hecate was alarmed to see her returning the traditional witches’ salutation. She ought not go about aping an action reserved for witching kind, if she knew what was best for her.

“Miss Honey is a non-magical person, so be respectful of her particular needs—and do not come to her for any magical assistance, since she has no power to provide a solution to that type of problem.”

Out of the corner of Hecate’s eye, she noticed Miss Honey adjust her glasses and her bright excitement folded a little. If she was going to be offended by Hecate stating simple facts, then so be it. It was not Hecate’s responsibility to coddle her with falsehoods.

“You may sit.”

Hecate began the lesson promptly, having felt that enough time had been lost to explaining Miss Honey’s presence. She had them turn to a page in their textbooks, and began calling on the girls at random to list the properties of the ingredients they would be using, or the applications of an Enlargement potion beyond simply _making things bigger_. The girls gulped as Hecate’s eyes trailed over them, and as she stalked between the rows, leaning over them ominously.

Hecate’s eyes kept flicking back to the form of Miss Honey, who sat at the bench, poised neatly on her stool. She was not what Hecate had expected at all. Hecate had imagined that there would be an effusive, enthusiastic youth to her motions—but instead, whenever Hecate glanced over, Miss Honey would lower her eyes once more, dutifully taking notes, and her shoulders would lose some of their posture.

The preliminary grilling over, the girls filed up neatly to collect their potions ingredients from the front of the laboratory, and soon Hecate was casting a vigilant watch over the students behind their simmering cauldrons, taking some satisfaction in the quietness that settled upon the classroom, such that Hecate almost relaxed in the peaceful bubbling of potions until—

A sudden blast burst forth into the calm—and a fountain of blue frothing potion erupted from the cauldron not five feet from Miss Honey, who threw up her notebook in time to catch the brunt of the potion.

Hecate immediately transferred to the girl’s side, her body rigid with rage. With a whisk of her hand in the air, Hecate sent the potion—which had splattered all over the bench, the girls, their uniforms, books, and belongings—into vanishment. She seized the pestle and mortar from Sybil’s grasp and took a pinch of the woody fibres within, with incredulity.

“Wretched girl—can you even comprehend the damage you could have caused by mixing gloomroot with griffin feathers before it was properly ground to a _fine_ powder? It was a mercy you did not leave the gloomroot whole, or this potions laboratory would be under ten feet of rubble. At least the reaction neutralised the effect of the potion. You are not worthy of the name of Hallow.” Hecate spoke so passionately that she was shaking with anger.

Sybil collapsed into tears, and Beatrice Bunch, who was at a neighbouring cauldron, patted her arm gently.

Hecate rounded on the girl once more. “Pack your bag at once, go to your room, and write an essay on the importance of safe ingredient preparation. I will see you in detention later.” 

A sobbing Sybil packed her bag while the class and Miss Honey looked on in stunned silence.

“I—I’m sorry, Miss Honey,” Sybil said as she passed Miss Honey’s desk—Hecate had not yet noticed, but there were still some specks of blue froth in Miss Honey’s hair and cardigan where the notebook had not caught the entire blast.

“I’ll see you in Chanting later,” Miss Honey said in a quiet undertone to the little blonde girl.

“ _Out_ ,” Hecate growled in a warning voice, then addressed the rest of the class, who had all abandoned their potions in shock. “What are you all gawping at? Finish your work unless you would like to join Miss Ho— Hallow in detention tonight.”

Gradually, the muted class began to shuffle back to their cauldrons while Hecate stalked around, casting criticisms hither and thither, incensed with humiliation that she had almost implied that Miss Honey was the one she had put in detention that night. 

Hecate watched from across the room as Miss Honey put her pen down, her mouth still in that neutral line; the only change in her face Hecate could detect was that her cheekbones seemed sharper—or the hollows of her cheeks gaunter—as she sat in her prim way. Even with her decades of teaching experience, Hecate could not tell whether Miss Honey was paying attention or idling away her time in some daydream—though admittedly there must have been precious little she could understand about the methods of potion mixing itself, Hecate at least hoped that Miss Honey would note the standards to which Cackle’s students must be held. Yet instead of steadfastly taking notes as she had been doing, her round-rimmed spectacles angled away from the centre of the room, inspecting the shelves to the side that housed ingredients that made most girls’ stomachs squirm unpleasantly. One hand was up to her face, resting with her thumb against her lips—the other was wrapped across her body protectively.

Towards the final minutes of the lesson, Hecate instructed the girls to decant the contents of their cauldrons into phials to allow the potions to mature—determinedly not looking at the figure of Miss Honey and her stoic face that hid any trace of emotion. Although Miss Honey had not said a word, nor made any indication of it, Hecate felt a crushing wave of shame coming over her that Miss Honey had been witness to her failure to notice Sybil Hallow’s mistake before her potion had blown up in Miss Honey’s face. Miss Honey was bound to think that she was an incompetent teacher—even being non-magical as she was, a potion erupting over the whole class could not have escaped her notice.

The bell rang, but the girls remained seated as Hecate stood before them, eyebrow raised, awaiting their attention. They knew better than to leave without being officially permitted to do so, fearful as they were of her wrath.

“Your prep tonight will be two sides of A4 on the uses of Enlargement potions and your write-up of today’s practical. I expect these to be done by our next lesson tomorrow, else you will spend your evening with me in detention. Class dismissed.”

Hecate approached Miss Honey, who had just picked up her leather satchel and notebook in readiness to depart. She raised her hand to vanish the last remnants of the potion flecking Miss Honey’s hair and clothing. 

“Miss Honey, allow me to—” 

But the eyes that met hers as she side-stepped Hecate were devoid of the warmth with which they had earlier shone. Hecate’s hand trembled in mid-air as she watched the retreating form of Miss Honey, low white slingback heels clicking in discontent on the flagstones as she turned the corner of the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not saying this is the gayest idea i've ever had, but,,,,,,,
> 
> this is the gayest idea i've ever had


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate overthinks her interactions with Miss Honeybroom, only to have her attempts at compromise thwarted by her own obstinacy.

Hecate mulled over the previous day’s events as she performed her daily ablutions the next morning. The way that Miss Honey had left her class unsettled her greatly—particularly after the way that her serene features had looked so blankly at her. Hecate continued to comb her waist-length hair, trying to banish thoughts of Jennifer Honey from her mind—then recalled that Miss Honey still had the silk black ribbon that Hecate had given her to use while she had been in attendance observing her Potions lesson. It had been one of her own, but Hecate, having little use for ribbons with her usual everyday hairstyle, decided to quietly accept that she might never see it again.

She had not seen Miss Honey during yesterday’s lunch break; Dimity had said that she had passed her in the teachers’ wing with a sandwich that she was planning to eat while amending her lesson plan in her room. Hecate hoped that this had not been a self-imposed exile at the time—but as the day had progressed, Hecate’s patience wore thinner with each time that she heard Miss Honey’s name, and her feelings towards the supply teacher grew increasingly resentful.

At dinner, from the students’ tables Hecate had heard nothing but glowing admiration from the girls who had experienced her teaching first-hand already—their eagerness spread to the others, whose timetables had not yet fatefully aligned to allow them to be taught by the non-magical supply teacher. When Miss Honey arrived late—for apparently she had the habit of taking time out of her own schedule to help students individually after lessons—she entered the Great Hall, her hand resting on the shoulder of the tiny Sybil Hallow, who thanked her with a huge grin, before bounding over to her usual group of friends and showing them the chant she had learnt to conjure an illusion of a flower.

Miss Honey’s name was soon sweetly adorning every tongue in the school, in almost every corridor, and more than several times she had begun her lesson after hearing the name of Miss Honey invoked with sighs of delight. It seemed that Miss Honey’s pedagogy—whatever it must entail—had something about it that was pleasing to both students and staff. Even Ada practically sparkled as she told Hecate how Miss Honey had revolutionised the way she thought about how magic was taught. For a mere supply teacher, and an Ordinary one at that, Jennifer Honey was certainly making her presence known.

Hecate pulled her brush a little too sharply through her hair. It was a sign she had lost control; she was letting her irritation over a small thing spiral irrationally into a bigger matter. Being unprofessional by allowing her conflicted feelings result in sniping at Miss Honey, whether privately to herself, or aloud, would solve none of the issues that she had. 

Perhaps there was something to Jennifer Honey’s teaching practice. Pippa Pentangle’s opinion was, frankly, null and void, but Ada had been ecstatic over her. While Ada was hardly infallible, she was generally a good judge of character (except when it came to her sister on numerous occasions), and Hecate supported her—and surely the entire school could not be incorrect. She remained undecided.

Hecate put her hair into its usual bun—but then took it down again and redid it when she realised it was slightly off-centre. This business with Miss Honey was clearly affecting her more than it ought to be. She tried to pay more attention to each long length of hair and the weight of each section she twisted and pinned into place. It seemed to be slightly tighter than usual, which she took as being a sign of greater discipline, and thus a confirmation of her reputation as a formidable witch. Only once she was satisfied did she move on to applying her usual makeup spell, and checked her appearance fastidiously. There was no margin of error for Hecate Hardbroom—and particularly not when she wanted to make a better impact on a certain supply teacher.

Finally, with a swirl of her long-fingered hand, she allowed her magic to surround and divide her from herself, and found her vision coalescing into being in the staff room.

By some providence, Hecate was assaulted by the sight of Miss Honey’s pink cardigan—and Miss Honey herself, sitting on Miss Bat’s usual armchair, laughing with Dimity—it was the first time she had heard Miss Honey’s laugh, and it sounded like a pure expression of delight, rather than tempered with the reticence that Hecate was used to thus far from her. Both Dimity and Miss Honey were startled immediately into silence at the sight of Hecate appearing before them. _So much for Dimity’s claims of getting off on the wrong foot with her_ , Hecate thought bitterly, before checking herself and attempting to manifest some kind of pleasant expression.

“Good morning, Miss Hardbroom,” Miss Honey said, getting to her feet and smoothing out her pencil skirt. While she was less icy than the last time they had spoken, her tone still did not feel like an open invitation to join their hastily concluded conversation.

“Miss Honey,” Hecate responded stiffly, sensing at once that her resolve to be less uncharitable towards Miss Honey had already plainly fallen short of its mark.

Miss Honey turned to Dimity—who was nibbling her lip in a very familiar way that Hecate knew to be her guilty face—and excused herself with a few words of gratitude and a promise to speak again later. 

Miss Honey’s honey-brown hair swung forwards as she stooped to retrieve her leather satchel—as she tucked it behind her ear, she hesitated—Hecate caught a flash of her dark eyes connecting with hers—and then she let herself out via the door, leaving Hecate, who found herself suddenly short of breath.

“We bonded,” Dimity shrugged at Hecate’s questioning look.

“I can see that you did,” Hecate stated. 

“Jenny’s such a lovely woman. She forgave me instantly when I apologised for coming on too strong yesterday—said she just felt intimidated by racing against the _Star of the Sky_. Can you imagine, she actually looked me up before she came? She asked for my autograph for her daughter,” Dimity grinned. “I feel bad for calling her boring now. Amazing how a little misunderstanding can affect a potential friendship.”

“Perhaps she will forgive me for whatever wrong I have done her,” Hecate sighed.

“I think you’d better talk to her. She mentioned something,” Dimity confessed. “Actually, that’s kind of what we bonded over. You, being a bit— you know, bristly.”

Hecate exhaled deeply. “It might have been more tactful in this case not to have been _quite_ so honest, Dimity.”

“Sorry,” Dimity shrugged again. “Did you rent an emotion just for this one day? Didn’t realise you were so sensitive about things like that.”

Hecate rolled her eyes. “ _Strive_ ,” she muttered to herself, as she closed her fist in the air and transferred away from the stale air in the staff room. She often found it a comfort and a boon to remind herself of the school motto in times of dire need.

As she went about her administration work for the day in the confines of her office, Miss Honey was never far from her mind—she played over the events of yesterday’s Potions class, thinking of how those dark eyes had shied away from her own and wondering what she could have done to offend her to such an extent that she had left so abruptly. Yet, her distant attitude had even begun before that, Hecate realised. Over the table at breakfast—but perhaps it had been her own fault for stunting the growth of the conversation with her curt answers and obvious irritation about being supplanted from her favoured chair.

Yet perhaps, like with Dimity, Miss Honey had done her homework on Hecate and investigated her past. She shuddered to think that Miss Honey may have come across her childhood crimes and be holding that against her. While the Council had done their best to keep the story away from journalists, it would not have been impossible for her to find out about the Indigo Moon affair for someone who was as well-read as Miss Honey, and particularly since its resolution had been so presently resolved. Hecate rather hoped that it was merely down to a misunderstanding instead.

* * *

Hecate consulted her watch for the time. There were seven minutes and twenty-four seconds left of the test paper she had set for her Fifth Year class. All heads were bent to the desks, except for one girl—whose eyes were wandering over to the window. Hecate thought she had paced the paper precisely so that there was only the exact amount of time available for each answer. She noted which girl it was, so that she could check the quality of her work, or whether the timing or the paper needed adjustment. Most likely, the girl had not given sufficient detail on one or more of her answers.

Before she could give further thought to the lack of preparation she guessed had been done by the girl, a ringing cut through her interior monologue. It was not the bell signalling the end of the lesson, for no one else could hear it but she—it was higher, pealing out more insistently—she realised it must be Miss Honey’s enchanted bell calling for assistance. 

Hecate rose with a suddenness that caused several of the girls to jump. The timing of the paper was so precise that she could not possibly end the test early—but she knew how to handle this.

“There is an urgent matter that requires my intervention. You need not be alarmed, but I shall not be around for the end of the lesson,” 

“Wendy Shah,” Hecate addressed the registration monitor for the term, “please collect the tests at the end of the lesson, and put them in the black folder on my desk. It will magically seal when you close it.”

Hecate summoned Morgana from her chambers, who leapt gracefully out of a small pocket of air and poised herself serenely onto the folder, looking out at the fifth-years with round olive-green eyes.

“Morgana will watch you. Any girl she catches cheating will be expelled without an opportunity to sit her final Witching examinations.”

Hecate cast a final piercing gaze around the room at the worried faces, before she curled her fingers in towards her palm. She transferred directly into the Chanting classroom, steeling herself for whatever catastrophe was too much for Miss Honey to handle.

The scene that greeted her was one of utter mayhem. The desks had all been rearranged from serried ranks into a circle, and girls were taking shelter under them—Hecate had not the time to ponder the possible meaning of the new layout of the desks before—most dramatically, she noticed the blackboard at the front of the classroom looked as though it had blasted open, and before it was—

“ _Mildred Hubble!_ ” boomed Hecate’s voice across the classroom.

Hecate hastened over imperiously to where Mildred was covered in chalk dust—being clobbered about by a half dozen board erasers, shielding her head as they dive-bombed her.

“I don’t understand—they won’t—stop!” yelped Mildred.

At her side, Miss Honey was clutching the gold bell in her hand and trying to swat away the animated erasers, while the rest of the students peered out from beneath their desks. With a face like a picture of mirth, Ethel Hallow and her pristine chalk-free pinafore watched Mildred’s plight with a chair barricading her safely under her desk.

Hecate sighed through her nose and cast the spell to cease animation—the board erasers clattered to the floor in a cloud of dust.

“Thanks, Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred said, breathing heavily and wiping her chalky face on her sleeve.

“You lost control,” Hecate snapped at Mildred. “What kind of chant were you attempting that _this_ happened?”

The class slowly emerged from their makeshift shelters, now that the danger of getting a black eye from a wooden board eraser or coated in white powder had been put to an end. 

“I was—I was trying to animate the board erasers so they’d clean the board for Miss Honey,” Mildred replied. “We wrote a lot of our own chants on there when we were all brainstorming and I thought it’d help if I made up a chant to tidy up.”

Hecate exhaled with great weariness. “Your ‘creativity’ caused great damage to school property, and disrupted not one, but two classes’ learning. You cannot cut corners with magic. You must study the _proper_ way—which you will—in detention, with me, tonight.”

Mildred’s face fell, such that Hecate could almost hear the word “unfair” in her little frown. “But my spell should have _worked_. All my principles were right, just like Miss Honey said—”

“—Do not answer back. My word is final,” Hecate warned her, her eyes flaring. “Now—class dismissed.”

Mildred tramped back to her seat, bootlace trailing on the floor, as everyone made a lurch for their bags.

“Just a moment,” chimed the sweet voice of Miss Honey, and the girls stopped in their tracks. “When we meet again, I hope you’ll have some new chants made up to show me. Think carefully about rhyme and structure. They don’t have to be perfect or completely finished—we’ll work on them together next lesson. Let your imagination take you somewhere wonderful!”

Hecate stared at Miss Honey. Although she had assigned them homework, which was expected—she had neglected to make them write it into their homework diaries, which guaranteed that at least half of them were going to forget. Moreover, the prep itself was not formalised, in that it sounded like a guideline rather than an instruction. Had Hecate been setting the homework, there would be no ‘I hope you’ll have some new chants made up to show me’ about it—she would expect them to write a chant for a specific purpose, or else face the consequences. Perhaps this was part of the new style of teaching that Ada had taken a fondness to. Hecate could not imagine why.

“Miss Hardbroom, a word.” Miss Honey approached her as the students filed out, her mouth more serious than Hecate had ever seen it—even with the white dusting of chalk in her hair, on her face, and on her knitted cardigan, she deeply unsettled Hecate’s sense of calm.

“Since it is now the lunch hour, I have a few minutes to spare,” Hecate said, popping open her pocket watch long enough to register the time and raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to waste any of your time, Miss Hardbroom,” Miss Honey said, uneasily, cowering already under Hecate’s height. “But the truth of the matter is that I will not have you bully my students while they are under my care. Mildred and I were making a real breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough that _broke through_ the classroom furniture,” remarked Hecate with an eye upon the chalkboard. “Mildred Hubble is a menace. Trouble follows her wherever she goes. It is a sheer _miracle_ that she has been allowed to stay at this school for so long when she has failed consistently at every stage. It is only recently, this past year, that she has begun to perform less abysmally.”

Miss Honey shook her head in disbelief, seeming to grow slightly taller in her newfound assertiveness. “The only one who has failed is you, Miss Hardbroom, to see the genius of this young girl who struggles with conventional, outmoded teaching methods. Mildred needs support, not reprobation.”

Hecate’s eyes almost popped out of her head with the effort with keeping her rage within. The utter _cheek_ of this Honey woman, who had been here under forty-eight hours—she did not know the correct regulations—the protocols—and had she even read The Witches’ Code?

“The young witches of this academy must learn _discipline_ ,” Hecate hissed. She could not imagine how she had ever thought that accepting Miss Honey’s pedagogy without rigorous examination of it first had been a good idea.

Miss Honey’s usually serene eyes were grave over the top of her spectacles up at Hecate. “You have to let children be children, Miss Hardbroom. Without children there would be no school, or would you rather be deputy mistress of an empty castle with no one to pass all your fine intellect onto?”

“Magic is not a silly game for children!” Hecate retorted, feeling herself grow shriller with every word. She held her breath for a moment and released it, trying to maintain a professional and cool head. “One mistake can be catastrophic. I am hard on my girls so they will learn to treat magic with the respect it deserves.”

“Really? Or is it so you will be treated with the respect you think is owed to you?” Miss Honey paused, conflicted in her expression. “You like feeling powerful, don’t you, Miss Hardbroom? It gives you a sense of dominion over others. If you can make them feel small, you feel big. That’s what bullies do.”

Miss Honey stood motionless, bag clutched against her chest in defence. Her eyes were round with fear, as if she had said too much—exposed some part of herself that she had not wished to show.

That was the final straw. The room dissolved around Hecate as she transferred up to her personal chambers, far away from Miss Honey’s criticisms. The interior of her sitting room was cast in a dull shadow, indicative of the dull overcast sky outside. Hecate would not stand and be insulted like that—not by an Ordinary—an Ordinary woman who had made such a strong connection with Pippa Pentangle, particularly—

Morgana chirruped to see her mistress appear so unexpectedly. She had been dozing on Hecate’s bureau on top of the black, magically sealed folder from the potions laboratory, which Morgana with her special brand of familiar magic had already brought safely up to her. 

However, instead of going to greet her with a stroke of her silky black fur, Hecate became absorbed in thoughts—doubts—regrets. She sat in her armchair and looked at her hands. They were still shaking—for all the power that Miss Honey thought she had, she had none—her long black pointed nails—the defences she put up against the world to keep everything at a distance—and yet here she was, her armour peeled away so easily—undone by a woman who read her innermost weaknesses despite not even knowing her two days—

Tears splashed onto her hands. Here, alone but for Morgana, she could admit it—that there was much truth to what Miss Honey had said. Having authority made her feel safe. If she was in command of others, she was in control of herself. She had been confined to Cackle’s for so much of her life that control was something she grasped at wherever she could—but she had never considered the impact that her behaviour would have had on others.

A _bully_ —that was what Miss Honey saw in her. Perhaps she had seen that all along, and had spent every moment since then confirming it—with the way she had treated Sybil and Mildred. Hecate knew all too well what it was like to have been bullied, and she hung her head in shame to think that she had become like those that had tormented her.

The kind Miss Honey had barely been able to look at her as she taught yesterday, and today she had had no choice but to speak up against what she saw as an unjust punishment. Somehow, Miss Honey’s pureness of heart made her see her actions as all the more cruel. And now, having been judged by those eyes that were distractingly beautiful—having been dressed down in the way that she was—Hecate felt naked, vulnerable—

She unfurled herself from her chair, and walked to the window, resting her hands on the stone ledge and feeling the chill seep through her joints. Her heated feelings towards Miss Honey had cooled off now—and only a pang of intense guilt remained. The sky was a misty grey over the mountain, as more often that not it was, but today it softened her. As she regarded the sharp pine trees underneath, she recalled what Dimity had said about Jennifer Honey being a forgiving person. She hoped that it were true—and that she had not irreparably damaged her chances at exonerating herself and making reparations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i prOMise there will be fluff to follow. i know i write a lot of Angst and i'm sorry about that but our honeybroom rights will happen eventually


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate must face Miss Honey after their dramatic disagreement, but will they ever be able to reach a compromise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw at the beginning for meal skipping mention   
> slight spoilers in next cw  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> cw later for discussion of abusers

Hecate was roused from sleep by a pang of hunger gurgling in her stomach. She had neglected to eat both lunch and dinner yesterday—at lunchtime, she had been too tied up with her feelings about Miss Honey’s accusations of her being a bully—and in the evening, she had tried to leave, but felt her transference spell stutter in her hand when Miss Honey’s face came unbidden to her mind. When she had met Mildred later for her detention, she was so consumed with what Miss Honey had told her that she had changed completely what she had planned for that detention and let Mildred go early.

It was Saturday, when Cackle’s usually held its weekly staff meetings. Meetings were one of Hecate’s particular preserves, and while the presence of Miss Honey was to cause her some distress, she would have some degree of control. Yet even as this thought occurred to her, she knew what Miss Honey would think of her love for order in meetings—that it was revealing that Hecate gravitated towards something where she could wield the iron fist of rules and regulations to hold dominion over others. 

Hecate could not collapse back in on herself in shame. Wallowing would do no good, and would not make her a better teacher. Instead, she realised that this would be the prime opportunity of letting Miss Honey know that she had seriously considered what she had said, and indicating her intent for being fairer. While Hecate would not disguise what had happened—the damage of school property by Mildred Hubble still needed to be logged for the sake of the records—she would go differently about it than she usually would. The blame would not be put on Mildred, nor on Miss Honey. Miss Honey had to see that she was not a bully. 

Hecate was the first to arrive in Ada’s office, as was her custom. She replicated copies of minutes from the previous meeting, as well as an order of business for the chair of the meeting, which was usually Ada or herself. If it weren’t for Hecate’s insistence on such attention to process and order, she imagined it would not survive as a practice. 

Yet as she put a sheet of minutes at each seat at the table, she felt shame set in about her own need for such rigid structure. She supposed Miss Honey would rather have everything unregulated, with points of business brought up willy-nilly—and that was how she was supposed to work from now on, with seemingly everyone on Miss Honey’s side and for that way of thinking. She transferred the tea set and plate of biscuits that were waiting in the kitchens onto the table and placed a teacup and saucer for each attendant. As she willed a neutral expression to greet the staff as they entered, she wondered about how the needs of students who _did_ prefer orderliness, structure, and discipline were to be met. Students like Clarice Twigg, certainly, would be lost at sea in that kind of environment where homework was not clearly stated.

“Has anyone seen Jenny this morning?” Ada asked, once the staff had assembled.

“We ought to wait for her,” muttered Hecate. Miss Honey had to be present when Hecate gave her report on what had happened the day before—but the thought caused fear to effuse inside her, and at once her throat felt dry.

A tentative knock came at the door. “That could be her now,” Ada said, and got up to answer. Hecate’s heart began pounding, half hoping it was only a student with some disaster that she could volunteer to resolve—

“Oh, Jenny, my dear—you needn’t knock,” Ada exclaimed once she had opened the door, patting Miss Honey maternally on the arm as she welcomed her into the room. 

“I’m sorry I’m a little late,” Miss Honey’s sweet tone came as she made her way over to the table with Ada. “My daughter Matilda mirrored me and she can be very talkative once she gets going. And I do so love to hear all about her school week.”

Hecate wished that Miss Honey had chosen a seat on the opposite side of the table to her, but she had opted for the same side, which meant that Hecate could not discreetly make eye contact with her without turning her entire body and looking around Dimity. She told herself it wasn’t Miss Honey’s eyes into which she needed to gaze deeply, but her expression, to determine whether she should prepare herself for another round of cutting criticisms.

“It sounds like she’s lucky to have such a wonderful person as a mother,” Ada said warmly, while manually pouring a cup of tea for her—out of politeness, Hecate assumed. “How are you getting on here?” 

“Really it’s me who’s the lucky one,” Miss Honey responded, taking the tea cup. “But I’ve been very well here, thank you, Miss Cackle.” Hecate suspected that even if something were troubling Miss Honey—particularly what had transpired between she and Hecate—that she was not the type to bring up this kind of problem in a public meeting. That did not, however, prevent her from worrying over the words that had lanced out between them, still raw on her mind.

Hecate cleared her throat pointedly. “We are now quorate to start the meeting,” she said, steering the conversation hastily back to the matter at hand, looking down at her order of business. She was not keen on prolonging it any further. 

Dimity stifled a giggle, and Hecate glared at her while she cast a dictation spell on her quill to automatically note down everything that was being said.

“I’m sorry, I just find the word _quorate_ so funny.”

Hecate, failing to see the joke, continued to go through the—wholly necessary—process of approving the minutes from last week’s meeting. Dimity made her usual comment about wondering how many ‘minutes’ there would be in this meeting. Hecate cast her eyes heavenward as she waited for the punchline, the exasperation tempering her anxiety. “Hopefully less than thirty,” Dimity followed up, at which Miss Honey, who was the only one who had never heard the joke before, laughed, while Ada gave a weak smile.

The sweetness of Miss Honey’s laughter only served to cause a clammy panic to shudder through her. Though she had given the idea some thought to what she was going to say, somehow now that the time was upon her, she felt the words she had practised slip from her mind. Yet she had to press on—to at least maintain a shred of her dignity.

“Ada, if you would take over as chair while I am presenting my report?”

Ada agreed, with a sigh that told Hecate she thought it a little unnecessary for such formalites, but turned the paper Hecate slid around to face her, and nodded to Hecate to begin.

“Miss Honey called for my assistance in her Chanting lesson earlier in the week,” Hecate began, and detailed the state in which she had found the room and her resolution of the problem. She left out the disagreement with Miss Honey, only saying, “Miss Honey privately advised me on how to handle the situation after I issued Mildred a detention.” Hecate felt her ears grow warm. “When Mildred turned up to her detention I— thought better of it, and instead reminded her of the effects that an imprecise spell can bring. I taught her the spell to repair the broken blackboard—so she can at least attempt to fix her magical mistakes, even if ideally she would not make them in the first place. There is no further disciplinary action required. We—that is to say, Miss Honey and I—believe the girl needs a kinder approach.”

Hecate felt the room spin slightly around her. She had admitted her fault, and the world had not opened up beneath her to swallow her.

Ada raised her eyebrows in surprise at Hecate’s report, and Hecate avoided her examining look behind the flash of her spectacles. “Jenny, have you anything to add?”

“N—no,” came Miss Honey’s stammered reply. “Other than— thank you for helping me, Miss Hardbroom.”

Hecate wished that she could see Miss Honey’s face, to read whether she was being sincere or whether she was frightened of Hecate’s potential retaliation. She leaned forward discreetly to see if she could look around Dimity, who had just begun reporting on an injury that had happened an a game of witch ball that got too competitive, but infuriatingly, Miss Honey was not visible.

Try as she might to listen to Dimity’s report, she felt panic clawing at her insides. Miss Honey’s soft tones wafted through the thought train she had been having while idly letting her mind wander from physical education, before she realised that Miss Honey was giving her report. Her eyes centred on the quill dancing before her, to the relief that it was still dictating correctly, and not revealing what she felt stirring in her heart at Miss Honey’s voice. 

Hecate hesitated once Miss Honey had stopped talking—realising she had stopped speaking was as disorienting as coming out of a trance—before hurriedly regaining her sense of sobriety and beginning to dictate the unfinished business from last meeting. These were mostly to do with a missing order of replacement potions phial corks, which Hecate exhorted as an absolute priority. She reluctantly agreed to review Dimity’s proposal for new equipment for the PE store cupboards, of which she had been dismissive, owing to the fact that physical education could still be taught with the old equipment, whereas potions could not be stored uncorked. Ada promised she would look into both matters.

Hecate, somewhat appeased, checked the next item on the agenda. “Any new business?” 

“Oh,” Ada said suddenly after a pregnant pause. “Pippa Pentangle will be here next weekend to do a workshop on Modern Witching Pedagogy for the staff, when Gwen and Algie are back.”

Every bone in Hecate’s body turned to ice. “W—why was I not aware of this until now?”

“Miss Pentangle mirrored me this morning when she found out that Jenny was here,” Ada explained calmly. “Jenny will be staying on a few more days to assist her in the workshop—won’t you, dear?”

Hecate’s mind was spiralling. Pippa Pentangle would be _here_ , again? They always managed to clash over one thing or another, ever since Hecate had driven her away after Pippa had become too close to her, on the advice of her tutor, Mistress Broomhead. It had been for Pippa’s own good—neither could have progressed in their careers if they had become involved romantically, as Pippa seemed to desire, due to Hecate’s confinement. 

However, since then, Pippa’s wounded confusion and Hecate’s bitter regret had made for a sour relationship. Hecate had still barely forgiven Pippa for her actions against Ada when she had been in line to take over as Super Head of both Pentangle’s and Cackle’s Academies. Ostensibly, they had reconciled the hurt of the years past. Hecate knew, however, that Pippa would have heard from the Council about the Indigo Moon affair and the part Hecate had played in it, and the punishment Pippa had never known that Hecate had suffered alone.

“Just in a minor advisory role. Miss Pentangle is the one who is the expert,” Miss Honey’s voice came from the other side of Dimity, warmth evident in her words.

“She’s keen to kickstart your career, that Miss Pentangle.” Ada gave a glowing look in Miss Honey’s direction. 

“I’m so grateful to her. She’s been an absolute star to me,” Miss Honey replied. “I don’t think I would have got half as far without her bolstering me.”

Hecate felt small. She did not want to begrudge Miss Honey her advancement by any means, especially given that she was starting from a place of such grave disadvantage—but did it have to be _Pippa Pentangle_?

“Has the Council been giving you trouble?”

“A bit,” Miss Honey answered Ada lightly. “They’re not too keen on non-magicals knowing about the existence of magic, particularly in the case of the care of a magical child without a magical parent involved. And as I’m Matilda’s only parent—”

Ada shook her head in dismay. “Between you and me, the Council can be a little _backwards_. Not that they don’t do good work, which I’m sure they do—but they tend towards intolerance.”

Hecate sensed a break in the conversation, and cleared her throat, before starting in an emotionless voice, “are there any arrangements necessary for the workshop and Miss Pentangle’s arrival?” 

Dimity had leaned back in her chair now, and Hecate could finally set her eyes upon Miss Honey. Though the question had not been directed specifically to her, Miss Honey sat up a little straighter as she answered, “I think Miss Pentangle will be bringing everything we need. We’ll just need whichever room you think appropriate for the occasion.”

“The High Hall,” Hecate propounded without hesitation, trying to force down the fizzling anxiety with decisiveness. It was by far the most impressive room in the castle, containing all the antiquities and curios from the history of Cackle’s—treasured scrolls—ancient books in cases. “It is often used for conferences and is more than spacious enough.”

“The High Hall, Hecate?” Ada questioned. “I should think a modern witching pedagogy workshop should be held somewhere more—well— _modern_ , rather than a room that glorifies the past and the old ways.”

Hecate’s lips pursed. Her duty to the school meant that of course she loved every stone and every room—but she was rather fond of the High Hall. It had excellent lighting from mid-morning through to early evening owing to its large windows—and being around magical objects of old was always inspiring to her and brought to mind all the parts of Cackle’s history that made her proud to be a teacher there.

It was decided—with Hecate putting no further input into the conversation and conceding quietly to those who knew more of what was involved in a modern witching pedagogy workshop—that it should be held in Miss Bat’s classroom, since it had good acoustics. However, most importantly of all, since it was a classroom, it would allow Miss Honey and Miss Pentangle to demonstrate the purposes of different ways of arranging the desks and seating. 

When the discussion seemed to come to a natural conclusion, Hecate swept her eyes around the table. “If there is no further business, we may close the meeting.”

“I think that’s all for today, Hecate,” Ada said, a smile playing at her lips.

Dimity, the most eager to get going, stood up immediately. “Got to enjoy the sun while it lasts,” she said, nicking a couple of biscuits before leaving.

Hecate collected the used cups, her back stiffening as she lingered over taking each china cup in her hands and transferring them to the kitchen. Miss Honey’s cup had a ring of milky tea still in the bottom, and a little smudge where her lips had been. Hecate had been trying to orchestrate a natural chance to have a word with Miss Honey, but she had just drifted over to Ada and foiled Hecate’s plan.

“Miss Cackle—”

“Just Ada will do fine, Jenny,” Ada responded kindly.

“Ada, I wanted your approval on these worksheets for my second year Spell Science class,” Miss Honey said, slipping a handwritten sheet from a folio in her bag.

Ada popped her head around Miss Honey’s shoulder, and gave a pointed glance towards the door. “Hecate, don’t worry about all the clearing up—I’ll take care of it.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Hecate said, putting down the cup, and made the gesture to transfer away. Her body dissolved, just staying in place long enough to catch a glimpse of Miss Honey looking back at her, before her vision dispersed and she could see her questioning eyes no more.

* * *

Hecate was in her sitting room, peering down at the manuscripts from yesterday’s test. She needed to be away from students—and all the sounds and bother they brought—so had opted to work here, rather than in her office, where she usually would. The sounds of the wind whipping around the tower were relaxing to her pent-up anxiety.

A sudden, but shy knock resounding from the door shattered her peace. Hecate, confused as to why anyone would be attempting to contact her, wiped the ink from her quill and rose from her chair at the bureau to answer it.

She turned the heavy wrought iron handle and opened the door. Much to her surprise, the serene face of Miss Honey looked up at her from the doorway.

“Miss Hardbroom,” Miss Honey said, her dark eyes wary. “Ada told me you might be here.”

Hecate felt her heart pounding in her chest. This did not sound quite like a casual social call. Wordlessly, she indicated with her long-nailed hand for Miss Honey to sit at a table that she used for private dining, since she only had one armchair, which was presently being taken up by Morgana—who had opened one sleepy eye to Miss Honey’s sudden presence, before stretching and leaping down from the armchair to find a better vantage point.

Miss Honey lowered herself onto the wooden chair cautiously, eyes curiously taking in Hecate’s living space.

“Have you come regarding this morning’s meeting?” Hecate started, unsure whether to offer tea. “I had meant to speak to you afterwards, except it seemed you were otherwise engaged with Miss Cackle.”

Miss Honey took off her glasses, putting them onto the table, and kneaded the sides of her nose where they had been resting. “Yes—and no. It’s hard to know where to begin.”

“I hope that my behaviour towards you has not been unpleasant in any way—”

“Miss Hardbroom, please,” Miss Honey interrupted her, nervous agitation pitching her voice higher than usual. “There’s a reason why we’ve been— not getting on. I need to confess something to you.”

Hecate swallowed and nodded for her to go on, wringing her fingers in her lap. Miss Honey buried her face into her hands, breathed in and out, before folding them in her own lap. Hecate had already seen Miss Honey without her glasses before—in her picture on her CV—but the picture and the reality were two quite different things. While at the moment she looked deeply troubled and vulnerable, Hecate felt drawn to her more than ever—enchanted by that strangely stoic mouth that rarely had a true smile for adults, but always for children.

“My mother died when I was very young—so young that I have no memory of her. My father was a doctor, and had very little time to care for me. I was raised by my mother’s half-sister—my aunt Agatha Trunchbull.”

Hecate listened attentively, examining the new planes of Miss Honey’s face now that her glasses were not there to distract from them. As someone who had also experienced the loss of her mother, she found herself softening and drawn into Miss Honey’s story.

“My aunt wasn’t a kind woman. She hated children more than anything else, but she was the closest thing we had to a blood relative. When my father wasn’t home, she would play mind games on me, like telling me I hadn’t done my chores when I had, and make me believe I was a liar and a bad person. But then when she— murdered my father, she could do what she liked, because in the absence of anyone else, she became my legal guardian. She crushed all the courage and self-worth I had out of me, which wasn’t much to begin with.”

The blood drained from her face. Miss Honey’s aunt _murdered_ her father? Hecate was not inclined towards absolutes, but this Trunchbull woman sounded like pure evil.

“I wasn’t allowed to live as a child,” Miss Honey continued. If she had noticed Hecate’s reaction, she was not showing it. “I became Aunt Agatha’s maid—or more like her slave, since I didn’t get anything in return. I was ten years old and taking care of all the housekeeping—all the chores. If she wanted food, I cooked it. I did her laundry, made her bed— it wasn’t a childhood. It was a penitentiary.”

Miss Honey was staring out of the window, a distant look in her eyes. Hecate could not imagine how Miss Honey could have survived that upbringing, if it could be called that, to become such a lovely person.

“She let me study at a university on the proviso that I continued to devote my days to housekeeping. But in that way, I managed to acquire a teaching degree so I could teach at the local school where I went as a girl—and where my Aunt Agatha was headmistress. I couldn’t escape her. I obeyed her every order without knowing there was an option to say— to say no.” Miss Honey’s eyes glistened with the shock of remembrance. “She had me trapped in my own head, and I could see no way out. Once she realised she had complete control over my salary, she forced me to sign a contract that meant she would receive all the money I earned except for a pittance. She said that I had cost her a lot of money over the years and that this was the only way of paying her back. I believed her for the longest time.”

An uncontrollable, deep ache burned within Hecate to reach out somehow—physically or emotionally—to Miss Honey. But it would be inappropriate. Hecate knew her feelings were influenced by more than just Miss Honey’s words, and to act on these would be taking advantage of Miss Honey’s vulnerability. “It is preposterous that she could get away with such criminal behaviour.”

Miss Honey nodded in agreement. “But you know, it was only after seeing the way that she abused the students at her school that I recognised that the way she had brought me up was not normal. I would have endured what I had done twice over to protect these lovely children. She punished the children for wearing their hair in fanciful styles—for answering in too confident a manner—any number of things that would annoy her, most of which she made up on the spot. Misbehaviour would earn the children isolation in a cupboard she called the Chokey, which had only enough space to stand, and broken glass and nails jutted out from the walls, so that if the child moved, they would be cut—”

Hecate’s hands tightened in her lap, horrified. It was true that Hecate was no stranger to punishing children when it was necessary, but never with _physical harm_. “Did no one—surely someone had some way of alerting the authorities to this woman’s psychopathic behaviour?”

Miss Honey smiled bitterly. “That was the thing. No one believed it of her. When the inheritance of my family’s estate passed to her, with it came a great amount of respect. My father Magnus was beloved, and they assumed the same generosity of spirit lay in Agatha too.” Miss Honey bowed her head. “My experience of Aunt Agatha is why I— why I feared you. From my first impressions of you, I thought you were—like her—obsessed with power. The way you were so strict with Sybil and Mildred—all I heard was my aunt, criticising me, and punishing children unfairly, and not letting them enjoy their childhood.”

Hecate was stunned into silence. 

“You— you even wear your hair just like she did.”

“But I— I would never _hurt_ them. Everything I do is for their protection around magic that could cause harm. I would never commit _murder_ ,” Hecate blurted out in a jumble.

Miss Honey put her face in her hands. “I know— I know— this is why it was unfair of me to have reacted the way I did towards you. But you did—unintentionally—trigger that aspect of my trauma of her.”

Hecate swallowed. She had, all along, been representative of this awful Trunchbull woman. It was an agony almost physical to her that Miss Honey associated her so strongly with her abuser. She searched Miss Honey’s expression once she emerged from her hands—a similar look reflected back at her, examining Hecate’s own face for a reaction. It had clearly been difficult for Miss Honey to admit such a thing.

Hecate passed her hand over her head. With a frisson of magical energy across her scalp, the clips disappeared—and her hair spilled down her back in a cascade of free-flowing waves, magically relaxing the dents out of the stiff bun that had been there moments before. The shift in weight of her hair from the top of her head to hanging down drew her chin up into a regal angle.

Miss Honey blinked in surprise. “Y—you don’t have to do that, Miss Hardbroom,” she stuttered, her cheeks flushed pink.

“I thought it would make you less intimidated by me, and show you—that I am not unsympathetic to your needs,” Hecate uttered, trying to muster compassion into her austere voice, even though having her unruly curls on show made her want to shrink away from view. “I think— I think it might be useful for you to hear about my own Agatha Trunchbull, if you are in a position to hear it.”

Miss Honey nodded, her eyes widening with concern and wonder. 

Hecate sighed, the regret already weighing profoundly on her shoulders. “As a young witch, I made a terrible mistake. It was—more than a mistake—I _ruined_ a girl’s life.

“I had difficulties settling into Cackle’s. The grief I suffered prior to attending Cackle’s—my mother’s death—meant that I could not associate well with my peers. I was always—away with the fairies, to use an Ordinary turn of phrase—but when I was about twelve years old, I found a friend in the non-magical world, and visited her as often as I could, sneaking out of the castle. One time I was caught out of bounds by my teachers and was forbidden to go back. I thought of a way that meant she and I could never be parted—if she came to school with me. However, magic in the hands of a non-magical person is dangerous. It can drive them mad with power. Eventually, it consumes them, and—”

“—we turn to stone,” Miss Honey finished her sentence. At Hecate’s shock, Miss Honey nodded slowly, with a sad smile. “I researched for myself. When I realised I was going to be a non-magical mother to a magical child, I thought—if there was any way to make her life easier, I would try it. But my research led me to the conclusion that the best way to support her was to simply be there for her and learn all I could about her world.”

“I am sorry,” Hecate said, her words heavy with genuine emotion. “It is best that you did not, for the consequences would have been very severe. When my teachers discovered my crime, and the girl I had turned to stone, I was deemed too dangerous to be let outside the castle, lest I corrupt other non-magicals or expose the witching world. They cast a confinement spell upon me. I could not leave the mountain upon which Cackle’s was built—I was _confined to turret, wall, and yard_ , as the spell bound me. It was only lifted last year, after about thirty years—but in a way, I am still bound here by my own demons.”

Miss Honey’s hand went to her heart. “You haven’t—? You’ve never—?”

“Cackle’s has been my home for many years, and I know how to exist here—I know my place and my role. Even with the confinement lifted— I dare not venture from the mountain, other than on a single occasion out of necessity. I am— afraid of what may be out there.”

“During my confinement as a child, between terms when the castle and its grounds were empty but for myself, Mrs Cackle—Ada’s mother—arranged with the Council that I should have a tutor. That tutor was Mistress Hecketty Broomhead—a cruel disciplinarian who would not stand for anything less than perfection, and believed that teaching required punishment in order to sink in.”

Hecate was barely conscious of Miss Honey as she continued, staring into the smouldering fireplace, “she altered every aspect of my personality until it fit with her own, and believed that she could mould me into the perfect student. It was she who made me wear my hair as I usually do, and she who made me cut myself off from my friends. I— I hated her—and admired her. I even took her first name as my own, both loathing and relishing in what I had become, until it became a truth I merely accepted. She stayed on to instruct me in an Advanced Potions degree, and following its completion, she left, and I continued as a teacher at Cackle’s.

“I think you have seen how she succeeded in making me the bully that she was,” Hecate finished, her voice cracking and wretched.

“She sounds—truly horrible,” was the most that Miss Honey could say.

“Yet not physically abusive, like your Aunt Agatha.” Hecate looked at her hands in her lap, feeling her hair fall forwards to cover her face.

“Mental scars run just as deeply as physical ones,” Miss Honey’s voice said soothingly. “I’ve known both, and— the recovery cannot be usefully compared.”

“The difference between us is that I _did_ do something wrong, whereas you were always innocent,” Hecate asserted. 

“But no one explained the possible outcomes of giving a non-magical person powers to you, did they?” Miss Honey frowned. “How could you have known—at twelve years old—”

Hecate shook her head. “I broke school rules in contacting a non-magical person and telling her about magic. I was also aware that exposing her to magic was forbidden. I had researched it in a frenzy, trying to find anything I could on the subject of turning my friend into a witch. All the information I could glean advised against it, but did not tell of the consequences. Not a subject for a school library, evidently. But that should have been enough to deter me.”

“Still, there was no way you could have known what you were doing,” Miss Honey said, with a fervent warmth that conflicted with Hecate’s icy defences, melting her insides in an alarming manner. “You were a child.”

Hecate curled her fingers into a half-hearted fist on the table, feeling tears come to her eyes. “I was a fool.”

“I don’t think you were a fool for wanting a friend.” Miss Honey put her hand over Hecate’s—Hecate seized up at the contact, but did not move her hand away. “I may be overstepping my boundaries here as your colleague, but I’ve noticed you’re not close to any of the other teachers here. If you wanted someone to talk to—”

Hecate smiled weakly, blinking back the tears shamefully. “It is not in my nature to share, but—” _With you, perhaps it is different_. “This was necessary for resolving our disagreement. We both know where the other is coming from, now.”

The silence of unspoken words seemed to hang in the air for a moment. Hecate withdrew her hand from under Miss Honey’s and put it in her lap, closing the other over it protectively.

“Thank you for telling me. This can’t have been easy for you. I can tell you’re a very private person and—” Miss Honey hesitated, polishing her glasses with a small cloth before putting them back on. “I think— you need to be kinder to yourself. Surviving this kind of abuse can do strange things to a person’s personality. You needed compassion, Miss Hardbroom, and all you received was cruelty. You’re not a bully. You’ve just had a lot to cope with for a long time on your own.”

Hecate shook her head. She had deserved every moment of what she had endured. Miss Honey could not understand that.

“I have one question— what was your name before you changed it to Hecate?”

Hecate pursed her lips. “It is less painful to be known as Hecate than it is to be reminded of the childhood I lost,” she asserted. “I have many associations with this name that do not make me think of—her, whereas, my old name—I could never go back to it.”

Hecate had deliberately not answered her question. Miss Honey’s face showed a quiet acknowledgement of this, and she stood to leave.

Hecate rose to her feet automatically, her gaze softening. “Miss Honey— I would like to thank you as well, for— telling me about your aunt. I will try to be kinder, and make compromises where I can. I will have to keep my hair up for lessons, of course, but—”

Miss Honey rested her hand gently on Hecate’s upper arm. “Miss Hardbroom, I don’t want you make you feel like you have to change everything about yourself for me.” Her fingers twirled into one of the curls that hung to her waist, before releasing it suddenly. “Your hair really is rather beautiful, but I can see why wearing it in a bun is necessary for practical reasons.”

Hecate felt her blush spread to her ears again as Miss Honey touched her hair. No one in her usual acquaintance would ever have dared to do such a thing—nor had she ever heard anyone refer to her hair as _beautiful_ , not since Pippa—

“I hope I will see you at lunch today, Miss Hardbroom,” Miss Honey said, smiling as she crossed to the door to let herself out.

“You will,” Hecate returned, her curls falling distractingly forward over her shoulder as she opened the door for Miss Honey.

Miss Honey nodded, still with that smile playing at her lips, and left Hecate with a confusion of emotions—her pain over her part to play in Miss Honey’s trauma, mingling with the promise of that smile—the physical touches—the way she had used the word _beautiful_. It was too much to hope, and yet—and yet—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i'm really sorry this is like 50% meeting, 50% exposition. i didn't want people of TWW fandom or Matilda fandom to be left confused about why Hecate and Jennifer's pasts have such a great deal in common!
> 
> some headcanons (i.e. most of Broomhead) are my own, stolen shamelessly from A Clock With No Hands
> 
> anyway, hope this wasn't too boring,, i've been agonising over it for a while bc of that
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> heathcliff  
> @heathtrash on twitter and tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate struggles to resolve her conflicted sense of her own identity, and wonders how to thank Miss Honey for their heart-to-heart

Hecate artfully squeezed the misting spray over the plants; beads of water collected on their leaves, or on their soil, in accordance with their needs. Early mornings in the greenhouses were blissfully quiet. She found the company of delicate herbs preferable to the bustle of the castle—although there would be few others awake at this time of day.

It was cold outside; a frost layer covered the grass that would crunch underfoot when one strayed from the path down to the greenhouses. Hecate’s thoughts kept meandering back to yesterday, when she had gone down to lunch following that conversation to discover Miss Honey had arrived even earlier than she, and was sat in the chair opposite Hecate’s usual one. Had it just been her imagination, or had the way the light had caught Miss Honey’s deep brown eyes as she had met Hecate’s face with a welcoming smile been a little more friendly than usual?

Lately, she had found herself—more than usual—craving time on her own. It was times like these that made her regret being a teacher at a boarding school—so much of her time felt like it was never hers to spend how she wished. Yet she was so often Miss Hardbroom, even to her colleagues, that any sense of who _Hecate_ really was had slipped away long ago. She barely noticed the point at which her sense of self slipped behind into the fog of the past—now that she looked back, all that remained was a dense, cold nothingness.

Perhaps, with being confined from such a young age and oppressed by Mistress Broomhead’s indoctrination—perhaps she had never known what it was like to be simply _Hecate_. That was why the prospect of leaving the castle, and living outside of her role as Miss Hardbroom, terrified her so much—and why so often she fell back upon the mould that Mistress Broomhead had carved for her, as the only self she had ever truly known.

Hecate faltered while rotating a pot of herbs, her hands resting on the cool stoneware vessel. Her own thoughts were at once racing and in paralysis because of that which Miss Honey had said about her. She breathed. The repetition of the dark ornate iron struts arching overhead along the length of the greenhouse brought a sense of calmness and uniformity back to her unsteady heart. She recalled that Miss Honey had said Hecate should be kinder to herself—that she was not a bully—but from that point, where could she go? She felt utterly at sea. Her sense of order and routine was being undermined—she did not know how to resolve all these aspects into a version of herself that made sense to her and yet was not hostile to others.

Hecate drifted back through the grounds to ascend to the main keep of the castle. The frost was thawing now—stripes of bright emerald green grass glistened in shafts of sunlight next to the unmelted bluish ice. A warm sun radiated through her black cloak, while the back of her neck still felt the chill of the January morning air as she climbed up the winding path to the inner walls, and returned to the chaos she anticipated in the corridors.

* * *

The library was never busy on a Sunday morning—it was in the few hours before students finally realised that it was the day before Monday, and that they did indeed have homework—and so naturally, only a scant handful were hard at work.

Hecate passed along the end of the stacks, her eye trailing across the neat lettering of the subject headings on the sides of the shelves, wondering what could be of interest to someone who was not her. It was not often that she was in the library for reasons other than her own research, and it was an unusual undertaking that made her feel strangely out of place for the first time in her life, amongst the books that had been her companions for so many years. 

A student was sitting next to the shelving devoted to _Chanting, 16th Century_ —immediately recognisable as Clarice Twigg by her studious posture and customary seat. It was fairly frequently that Hecate saw her here with her friends, but today she was sitting at a group table on her own, with a small mountain of books that was stacked higher than her head as she scratched her quill along her page, making detailed notes from a mouldering book of chants.

The idea had come to her earlier—to bring a book that she thought Miss Honey would find _useful_ as a form of thank you—but she was at a complete loss as to what would interest Miss Honey that she could not look up for herself. While this was certainly not a _gift_ —for it was more of a peace offering—it followed a similar principle. When it came to gifts for Ada or Gwen, Hecate had known exactly what sort of thing would capture their imagination—Dimity was a bit trickier, although she seemed happy enough to receive practical gifts to be spared the disappointment of being given a book. 

The truth was that while Hecate felt that not many had been privy to Miss Honey’s past, and that she was perhaps a little unique in having that perspective—she hardly knew the woman or what she enjoyed. Her first instinct was to try to find something deeply obscure that Miss Honey could have had very little chance of reading before—for what could be the point of that? _Magical Fauna of the British Isles_ —no, too simple— _Advanced Studies of Bat Droppings_ —too dry—

At that very moment, Hecate emerged from the _Fauna_ category, to see directly in front of her, seated at the very carrel Hecate always used to occupy as a student, with her nose deeply buried in a book, was—

“Miss Honey,” Hecate muttered, trying not to let the surprise show in her face. She was suddenly struck with a pang of regret that she had not had the time to arrange her hair differently before seeing Miss Honey—but she had not the faintest idea of what would suit her, in any case.

Miss Honey looked around suddenly, her hand flying to her heart. “Miss Hardbroom,” she responded in a half-whisper.

“My apologies for startling you,” Hecate returned in a low voice. “I was on my way to see you, but— I seem to have found you here instead.”

“I was just reading up for my fourth year Spell Science lesson on the Principles of Spatial Magic.” Miss Honey indicated the notes she was taking with her biro.

Hecate looked over Miss Honey’s shoulder at the even rows of handwriting. “A fascinating topic.” 

Miss Honey’s mouth twisted. “Well, to be honest with you—”

Clarice Twigg glared at them from across the working area; her displeasure at being disturbed, even by her own teachers, was evident in her wrinkled brow behind her thick glasses.

“Perhaps we’d better relocate somewhere where we’re not disturbing anyone,” Miss Honey suggested quickly, looking a little intimidated by the furious schoolgirl.

Hecate waited patiently while Miss Honey packed away her belongings, and followed her to the front desk so that she could check out the book she had been studying.

“Thank you, Mattie,” Miss Honey said to the librarian, who blushed at being remembered by name by the kind-hearted supply teacher.

“My office is not too far a walk from here,” Hecate supplied, once the heavy library doors closed behind them. “It is this way.”

Miss Honey hung back for a moment. “I have a somewhat academic question.”

“Oh?” Hecate raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued.

“I know that transference spells can be cast on another witch, as in the examples of transferring a witch away, or oneself and another. But do they work on non-magical people?”

Hecate recalled often casting remote transference spells on Julie Hubble to summon her, usually in various states of unpreparedness. “They do.” She looked at Miss Honey, whose expression was not one of satisfied curiosity. “I sense that was not the question you wanted answering.”

“I— Well, admittedly, I’ve always been curious—”

“—About experiencing transference first-hand?” Hecate finished her sentence.

“Yes,” Miss Honey said, her eyes lighting up.

Hecate gave an amused smile. “I thought that might be what you were after. The sensation can be slightly physically distressing on the first few occasions,” Hecate warned her. 

“I have quite a strong stomach,” Miss Honey asserted, hitching her satchel more securely up her shoulder where it had been slipping.

Hecate jutted her left elbow out stiffly. “You will need to take my arm.” It was not entirely necessary, but Hecate had her doubts whether Miss Honey would emerge from the spell as well as she so confidently thought. “And I will take care of the rest.”

“All right,” Miss Honey said quietly, and slipped her hand into the nook of Hecate’s elbow, and stood so close to her that Hecate felt Miss Honey’s hip brush against hers with a sudden warmth that sent shockwaves through her entire body.

“Are you quite sure you are ready?”

At Miss Honey’s nod, Hecate twirled her wrist, and dematerialised the both of them into a fine mist of particles.

* * *

Hecate’s arm dragged downwards slightly as Miss Honey staggered into existence next to her, before she felt the weight of her slight body clinging to her own.

“Are you well?” Hecate inquired, her thoughts rapidly darting about as she failed to process the fact that she was being held by Miss Honey.

Miss Honey detached from where she had been clinging onto Hecate to keep herself upright. “Oh— I’m sorry, Miss Hardbroom— I’m just— a little dizzy.”

Hecate guided Miss Honey carefully over to the chair next to her desk, her hand firmly supporting around her waist. Hecate had not noticed how delicate Miss Honey was before. A thousand disordered thoughts of exhilaration rushed through her—but this was not a _moment_ of any significance, of course—Miss Honey was merely unsteadied by the transference and required her assistance. That was all.

“Perhaps I had better make you a cup of tea,” Hecate said, guilt nagging at her over Miss Honey’s pale face.

“That was amazing,” Miss Honey said weakly, letting her satchel slip from her shoulder to the floor beside her, and resting her head on her hand. “But I don’t think I should do it again in a hurry.”

“It does become easier with time, I assure you.” Hecate went to the dark wooden cabinet behind her desk and produced a tea pot—black with ornate gold detailing—and two matching cups and saucers, and set them between herself and Miss Honey. Hecate spooned some tea leaves out of a caddy she took from her shelf into the pot, allowing them to sprinkle down from a height, and tapped the side to warm the china through, before pouring over just off-boiling water from a kettle she summoned from the kitchens.

Miss Honey watched with fascination. “You’re quite serious about your tea, aren’t you?”

“I find comfort in the ritual,” Hecate confessed. “A well-made cup of tea can rival a potion in its preparation.”

She allowed Miss Honey to collect herself somewhat while the tea brewed.

“This is a lovely office,” Miss Honey commented, her still slightly dazed eyes peering about the various instruments, specimen jars, and tomes around them—as well as the comfortable furnishings in attractive mahogany and dark green.

“One of the advantages of being deputy headmistress,” Hecate remarked, laying a finger on the loose lid of the tea pot while she poured Miss Honey’s tea, and then her own. She would often pour tea with a levitation spell, but decided not to excite Miss Honey’s nerves any further.

“Thank you,” Miss Honey said as she raised the cup to her nose. “This is unusual. What is it?”

“It is a blend of white tea, lemongrass, and rose, to help relieve the effects of being unsettled. Quite a useful one to keep in my office.” Hecate warmed her hands on her tea cup. “I hope it helps.”

Miss Honey took a small sip. “I admit I’m used to having a little honey in my tea usually, but this is quite pleasant.”

Hecate’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “So, the Principles of Spatial Magic.”

Miss Honey’s eyes widened as she remembered why they had left the library. “Oh yes! I wonder if you could help me to understand some of the more technical parts. My mind sometimes goes to pieces when I’m reading about these things. I have no frame of reference for some concepts, so it’s like trying to read theoretical Physics. But I love to learn, and I think it’ll give me a better base to teach from.”

“Understanding them fully is a little beyond what we require of our fourth years,” Hecate remarked, her heart quickening to hear of Miss Honey’s intrigue in such a subject. “But I admire your thirst for knowledge. I can explain them further to you, if you would like to know.”

Miss Honey’s face was turned towards the window, through which a sunbeam had just begun to warm the room. Hecate glanced behind her to see a bright blue sky teeming with light and birdsong.

“I’ve always thought the outdoors can make the brain open up to more possibilities,” Miss Honey said, with a glance to Hecate to attempt to prompt her into realising her meaning.

“We could—” Hecate started, caught slightly off-guard, “go for a stroll around the grounds as I explain, if you would like?”

“I’d like that very much, Miss Hardbroom,” Miss Honey answered with a smile.

* * *

“I have a question for you,” Hecate began, as they proceeded out of the castle, “when was the first time you saw magic?”

The weather was quite cold still, with a clear sky promising no evidence of precipitation, but plenty of sunlight to temper the edge of the chill. They had both dressed warmly—Hecate in her heavy black winter cloak, and Miss Honey in a tawny brown wool overcoat and a cream-coloured chunky-knit hat.

“While I was teaching, a very special little girl called Matilda started in my class. She discovered she could tip over a glass of water if she concentrated hard enough. I wasn’t sure I believed her at first, but it was astonishing seeing it actually happen. I thought there had to be some scientific explanation, but—” Miss Honey shrugged. 

Hecate withheld her concern over a child performing magic in front of a non-magical person, and how many parts of the Witches’ Code had been inadvertently broken. “Matilda—is that not your daughter’s name?” she asked.

“It is. She is the very same Matilda. It was she who managed to convince Aunt Agatha to give up her job and my family’s estate. She used her telekinetic powers to make my aunt believe she was being haunted by my late father Magnus. It was fortunate that she didn’t see Matilda as she did her magic, or I’m sure the Council would have had something to say,” Miss Honey continued.

“You said she started in your class—”

“Oh, yes. Matilda isn’t my daughter by birth. I adopted her,” Miss Honey explained. “It’s just the two of us.”

Hecate surveyed Miss Honey’s expression as they descended the stone steps to the outer walls. “You must have a very special bond.”

“We both came from families who could not see our value. We saved each other, I think,” Miss Honey said, smiling to herself, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Hecate remained silent at this. She had no such family—not that she needed someone to see her value. Hecate knew her father was still alive, but she had not heard a word from him since her confinement had been lifted. She had almost hoped that there would be a reconnection after they had been estranged for so many years, but perhaps it was for the best that they continued to not acknowledge each other’s existence. Her father would be a very old man now—he was old even when she had been a young child, and had had very little time for his dreamer of a daughter after her mother had passed away. The last thing he would need in his twilight years was his failure of a daughter returning to disappoint him once again.

They spoke not another word until Hecate unlocked the wicket in the huge outer gate with a spell, and waited for Miss Honey to pass through before sealing it behind them. Miss Honey seemed so distracted by the sights around her—the bridge across the moat to the edge of the forest—that she had not noticed Hecate’s silence.

Hecate cleared her throat. “Regarding our purpose, then—spatial magic.” She found it awkward to teach while walking in a linear direction, rather than pacing the length of her laboratory back and forth—and even more awkward to be teaching to an adult. She hoped she could achieve the right sort of tone, without patronising Miss Honey, but also without glossing over anything important of which she may have been unaware due to her non-magical upbringing. “There are many different branches—the manipulation of space with magic, the interaction of space and magic, and the use of space to perform magic being the main three.”

Hecate knew that this was most likely something Miss Honey already knew, but she did not want to assume any knowledge. As they passed under the canopy of the forest, with the light dappling in, she continued, “we experience the world through our relativeness to objects around us. This may seem like quite an obvious thing to say, but it is essential to the full understanding of the subject.”

Hecate saw Miss Honey nod out of the corner of their eye. They rounded the corner of the path, and as Hecate slowed, Miss Honey followed suit.

“For example, I can touch my hand to this tree by physically moving through the space between myself and the tree.” Hecate walked over to a tree on her left, and laid her hand upon it gently.

“But what if I wanted to touch that tree,” she said, nodding to a tree on the other side of the path, “without the space between myself and the tree existing?”

Miss Honey’s eyes widened as Hecate put her hand up in front of her—her hand, appearing detached for a moment, rested on the other tree’s bark, and then the rest of her body slipped through the air and rejoined with her hand, on the opposite side of the path. She turned to see Miss Honey blinking in amazement.

“That wasn’t like a transference spell I’ve ever seen,” Miss Honey said, cautiously walking the distance that Hecate had bypassed.

“Because it is not. I stepped through the space by magically distorting the area. You will have noticed the air around my path warp as the magic took effect, like looking through a fishbowl full of water, or a pair of someone else’s spectacles.”

“Is it—difficult?” Miss Honey asked.

“It is not simple, nor do we teach advanced spatial magic—that involves people—at Cackle’s, because of the high risk to life when such spells go awry.” 

Hecate stooped and picked up a dead husk of a leaf and a cracked acorn shell from the ground. “The students in fifth year do attempt some basic spatial magic, like this.” Hecate indicated with her hand for Miss Honey to step back. “Through the displacement of space, I can move objects around without casting a spell on the object itself.” She opened her other hand, and the leaf and acorn began to drift up into the air. She created eddies in the space front of her, so that the acorn and leaf were propelled to and fro, exchanging places in a mystical dance, before dropping the spell and allowing them to return to the mulchy litter on the ground.

“Beautiful,” Miss Honey said in utter awe.

As they walked on deeper into the forest, Hecate continued to explain the minutiae of the possibilities of spatial magic—long-distance motion being one—but why it was such a risk due to the flux of time, the dangers of warping vast amounts of space, and the drain on one’s magic to maintain such a spell. All the while, as she spoke, she felt comforted by Miss Honey’s calming presence listening to her every word. The cares of the week seemed to flow away, and for the first time in a while, she was relaxed.

Hecate led her along a path she knew intimately—out from the protective shelter of the forest’s canopy and into the sparkling cold light. They ascended a rocky path, where, on a higher patch of ground stood a small solitary grove of trees. Miss Honey grew quiet with intrigue as Hecate led her up to it. The wind picked up slightly as they got further away from the stillness of the forest to the edge of a craggy outcrop overlooking the moat and the castle.

“Do you notice anything about these trees?”

Miss Honey paused before answering. “There are five—do they form a pentagram?”

“Correct. The placement of these trees was a deliberate endeavour to create a permanent spell circle. Spell circles are a way of using space to perform magic. The centre of the circle is the heart of the power, where a witch can draw from the points around them. Sometimes we use crystals or candles for this, but this is on a much larger scale. Through a combination of spatial and natural magic, the energies of the trees intersect, and amplify a witch’s power.”

“Fascinating,” Miss Honey exclaimed, lifting her face to the bright sun over them that shone through the thin veil of tree branches.

Hecate beckoned Miss Honey to join her in walking to the centre of the spell circle, and Miss Honey needed very little encouragement. Hecate felt the wind of the invisible forces tingling in her fingers when they reached the centre. Hecate guided her to the central point, marked with five smooth stones embedded into the earth. “Can you—perhaps it is silly to ask—but can you feel the power in the air?”

Hecate looked at Miss Honey’s face in profile as she frowned slightly in concentration. She felt drawn to her—knowing within that it was improper of her to have such feelings about this woman, whom she had met only a few days before—yet her heart ached to experience what it was like to _know_ Miss Honey’s cheek—her jawline—the taste of her lips—

“I can’t—”

Hecate saw Miss Honey’s expression falter. It had been a foolish question, since she knew Miss Honey had dearly wanted to be able to use magic like her daughter—and moreover, she was a fool to have thought about Miss Honey in such a way.

“I am sorry,” Hecate muttered.

“It’s all right. I’ve made my peace. I’m happy just learning about magic. The only thing that I would regret is not getting to pass on the knowledge I’ve gained,” Miss Honey said, the sincerity in her voice almost enough to convince Hecate.

They wandered to the edge of the circle quietly, each lost in thought as they looked out across to the castle.

“It was I who planted them,” Hecate mused, her voice soft. “I once thought that it would be possible to escape my confinement if I could amplify my magic enough to break the spell, or circumvent it by altering the space to which I was confined.”

“You never tried it, though,” Miss Honey said, putting a hand on Hecate’s back gently. 

A heat blushed through her body at the contact—she looked into Miss Honey’s eyes, which were so close that Hecate found herself hesitating before answering her comment. “I did not. I knew that I was confined for a reason—indulging in dangerous magic was my first great mistake, and I did not intend to make that mistake again.”

“I’m so sorry that— that you had to live with that alone,” Miss Honey said, shifting her hand slightly further up her back. 

Hecate realised that Miss Honey was testing to see if she was willing to participate in a hug. She found her body giving into the welcome temptation—she turned herself so that Miss Honey’s arm curled around her more, and felt the other arm slip around her waist under her cloak—Hecate hesitated before wrapping her arms delicately around Miss Honey’s shoulders. It felt like an enormous relief of _something_ being lifted from her—like hearing a favourite piece of music after a long time, or sinking into the aroma of a cup of tea.

Hecate was not sure how long they held the embrace, but it was a little after the wind sifted through the fine hairs on her nape—after she had felt her body quiver as she let out a few tears—after she felt herself relax into the warmth of Miss Honey’s smaller form. They parted in mutual understanding, Hecate immediately regretting that she could not slip her hand into Miss Honey’s to maintain some form of contact—a reassurance she craved in the aftermath of such a monumental experience.

There was a moment where Hecate felt that anything she said would cause everything to fall apart, but she needed desperately to fill the widening gap between them. “I wish you could see the forests in spring. The blossoms are the most beautiful colours,” Hecate said against the breeze as they headed back to the forest, offering a hand to Miss Honey as she climbed down a tumble of rock. She immediately had second thoughts about her comment—it was dangerously close to something a feckless romantic might say in an imprudent fanciful state of idiocy.

“Perhaps I’ll get to visit again,” Miss Honey responded, slipping her hand into Hecate’s gratefully as she navigated the awkward descent. Her fingers were a little cool to the touch and banished all Hecate’s self-chastisement from her mind—but she withdrew her hand as soon as it was no longer necessary, and Hecate bowed her head in silent acceptance of the “thank you” that Miss Honey imparted to her.

They walked, subdued, back along the path through the forest. Hecate felt anxiety pressing around her heart, fighting against the stillness that holding Miss Honey had brought. She was unsure whether Miss Honey had intended any of her actions the way Hecate had taken them, but was inclined to believe that it was all simply wishful thinking.

“When I was looking for you this morning—I was looking for a book in the library to give you as a— as a thank you for our conversation,” Hecate broke the tension stiffly with her confession.

Hecate could see Miss Honey’s face turn towards hers, but resolutely denied herself the pleasure of looking her in the eye. “But what you ended up giving me today was far more valuable than anything I could have found in the library. I— I had no idea how talented a witch you are,” Miss Honey said, surprising her, and unsteadying the feeling that Miss Honey had regretted hugging her.

Hecate shook her head. “I am no more talented than any other witch of my age and experience. You truly see the magic in the world, Miss Honey—even in one as wretched as I.”

Miss Honey did not reply for a moment. “It can be hard to see magic when you have lived in a world so utterly devoid of it. Matilda changed all that for me.”

Miss Honey’s words found a raw spot in Hecate’s very heart—she almost lost her footing on an exposed root in the path. She did not know whether Miss Honey knew how acutely her statement applied to the both of them.

“But I do think there is nothing quite as magical as seeing a student shine in an area where they have struggled for so long—seeing them finally achieve.” Miss Honey’s mouth was determined in profile as Hecate glanced over at her. “To grow on their own without us, further than us, once we have taught them everything we know.”

Hecate felt tears come to her eyes once more at Miss Honey’s moving speech. She blinked them away, slightly frustrated at how emotional she had been that day. Yet the words rang painfully true—even though Hecate had been often extremely strict with her students, she always had a sense of pride that they would leave Cackle’s as fully fledged witches with their whole lives ahead of them—though it had always been tinged with the sorrow that her girls would be able to experience the world in a way she never would have been able to. Miss Honey was surely one of the most dedicated educators she had ever met. Hecate only regretted that she was but a supply teacher—and that she would soon be working for Pippa Pentangle, in a school that she could not—would not visit.

A burst of light from overhead told Hecate they had run out of forest—and were back on the bridge over the moat surrounding the castle. She had barely been paying attention to their surroundings, and at once wished she could have had more time to linger in Miss Honey’s shadow.

“Miss Honey—” Hecate said suddenly, pausing in the middle of the bridge.

Miss Honey stopped in her tracks, and touched Hecate’s shoulder over her cloak. “You know, you don’t have to call me Miss Honey—unless you feel that that would be inappropriate,” she added in a rush.

“Whatever you feel most comfortable with.” Hecate swallowed, and smiled shyly. “And you are welcome to call me Hecate, unless you do not—”

“—I’d love to, Hecate.” Miss Honey—Jennifer slid her hand down Hecate’s arm—lingering on Hecate’s hand and giving it a slight squeeze before her face registered a flash of guilt, and withdrew it hastily.

Hecate reached out as Jennifer shrank back, and caught her hand in her own, sensing no resistance—but something she imagined like her own longing reflected back at her in the hesitant smile. Jennifer’s fingers tightened over hers, and her thumb stroked over Hecate’s knuckles.

“For all my magic, Jennifer, mine does not compare to yours,” Hecate said, finally finding the right words to articulate her admiration, trying not to be distracted by the sensation of Jennifer’s soft hand caressing hers, or the sight of Jennifer biting her lower lip. 

Jennifer glowed, the sun sparking in her eyes behind her round glasses as she gazed back at Hecate. “You don’t know how much that means to me, Hecate.”

Hecate hoped—hoped beyond hope that Jennifer felt as she did. It was a foolish dream—yet one that she would allow herself to indulge in, perhaps just this once. She would deceive herself that the hand holding hers tingled with the same prickle of emotion—just for a moment longer as they stood in front of the castle gates.

Their hands unlinked, and they headed back through the wicket gate, both too polite to go first, both walking with a wordless, barely contained tightness, and both finally parting on the foot of the staircase with the most awkward of goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read my big fic A Clock With No Hands, you might notice a little cameo here :)
> 
> this chapter turned out pretty gay i hope you like it
> 
> lots of love  
> heathcliff  
> @heathtrash on twitter and tumblr


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate battles her own demons as she and Jennifer appear to get closer.

“You seem distracted, Hecate.”

Hecate blinked out of her reverie with Ada’s use of her first name. She had spent the entirety of today thinking intently over the weekend’s events—revisiting the grove she had planted—it had brought up some difficult memories, but Miss Honey—no, _Jennifer_ —had been there to hold her, as she cried into the soft hat knit in thick cream yarn that she had been wearing. The act of simple kindness was more than she deserved—she, who had only moments before fantasised about kissing Jennifer Honey in the centre of the spell circle.

There were so many details to be cherished, that her memory of even the intimacy of Jennifer clinging onto her for support after experiencing her first ever transference seemed almost unimportant, compared with the moment she had felt on the bridge, when their time had all too abruptly come to an end—when Jennifer had squeezed her hand—and Hecate had brought them to an uncertain new beginning by catching her hand as she withdrew it.

Pendle was curled up to the pink-patterned tea pot between them. Ada looked down through her glasses at the forms for the castle’s expenses, while Hecate calculated the predicted grades for the school’s performance report. They often shared the duty of completing administration work together—Hecate with her lips pursed in concentration, Ada with a blanket tucked over her lap, occasionally tutting over figures that would not quite add up until Hecate looked over her shoulder and pointed out something she had missed.

“My apologies, Ada,”

Ada shook her head, smiling. “Not at all. It’s a relief that something other than work has caught your attention. Your single-mindedness is often useful, but I do— worry about you, sometimes.”

“That is entirely unnecessary,” Hecate said dismissively, feeling quite caught off-guard—firstly that her distraction was so obvious to Ada, and secondly that her usually strong sense of conscientiousness had been compromised by— recent happenings. “I shall not allow myself to become distracted from my duties to the school.”

“You are allowed to have a break every now and then, Hecate,” Ada chided her good-naturedly. “I prefer it when my deputy headmistress isn’t run completely off her feet from stress.”

Stress was certainly one thing Hecate was not short on, especially lately. After the weekend, a tight ball of unanswered anxiety was growing within her. She had already emotionally invested more than she could have ever imagined into Jennifer. Jennifer—she could not help the catch in her throat as she thought of her name—knew her deepest secrets—what she had dared not reveal to any other. Yet this was now the start of the last week she would have with Jennifer Honey, before Gwendolyn and Algernon would return and mark her duties at Cackle’s as complete.

“You haven’t seen Jenny lately, have you?”

“J—Miss Honey? Why should I have seen her?” Hecate stammered.

Ada smiled knowingly. “I’ve noticed you two spending some time together.”

Hecate’s ears went quite pink. “She needs a lot of guidance.”

“If you say so, dear.”

* * *

In fact, Jennifer _had_ taken to dropping by at Hecate’s chambers each night to ask for Hecate’s assistance in preparing her lessons or marking some or other batch of prep—Monday—Tuesday—until Wednesday, when Hecate realised that she could no longer handle the prospect of another intimate evening when they would drink tea, and let their respective writing implements dart in unison across a page, and completely fail to address the moment they had held hands on the bridge—the moment at which Hecate thought everything had changed between them. 

Hecate had come to the conclusion that Jennifer had meant nothing by the way she had stroked Hecate’s hand—that in expressing their mutual admiration for each other, Jennifer had reached the happy state of companionable friendship, while Hecate ached for something more. She needed to make herself less available so that Jennifer would not see the way that she would look up from her work continually to gaze at the expression of concentration that would cross her slender face—so that she would not notice Hecate’s feelings grow stronger even as the day for her to leave grew ever closer.

As soon as it was dark enough for the first stars to appear, with a turquoise horizon burning under the darkest navy sky, Hecate stole up to the battlements, to the northern turret, where she had a telescope set up for observing the movements of the stars and planets. Although she owned many on the subject, she had no need of a book to guide her knowledge of the sky, and instead used her magic as her compass star to lead her to the place she needed to imagine herself.

Hecate sketched out a map in luminescent ink that shone dimly enough as to not require her eyes to readjust as she went between looking at her page and then up again at the stars. However, even as she read the sky, against her will, she was taken back how often that week she had bumped into Jennifer on the way between lessons—the sight of her downcast eyes behind those round glasses in the moments before Jennifer noticed her tall figure clearing a path down the corridors, or heard her shoes striking the flagstones. 

Her expression was always serious, gathering herself for a moment in the gaggles of girlish chatter as they washed down the hallways—yet as she would find Hecate’s form, she would suddenly give a shy smile when their dark eyes connected across the distance. Hecate would think she saw something in the blink of her eyelashes—in the split second before a flash of light set her eyes aflame with a kindling of pleasure. Hecate’s heart skipped a beat—with just the thought of the way Jennifer would look over—notice _her_ —she was taken back to the spell circle, tingling all over with power and—she admitted it shamefully—desire.

Yet that was her own fantasy, she reminded herself with a bitter rebuke, for Hecate had no evidence as to what Jennifer’s emotions towards her meant. She was most likely just being kind. Only Hecate could be fool enough to mistake a friendly word—a simple embrace—as something more. Jennifer stopped by Hecate’s chambers each night for her companionship and the encouragement she needed with the subject matters she was teaching—not because of any other reason. Hecate should not have flattered herself to believe that Jennifer Honey would be interested her—in the mere span of a week and a half—or that she was indeed deserving of more than the barest of polite words.

How desperate for human contact she was to think that the brief touch of their hands meant anything more than a handshake between colleagues, or even the looks they exchanged in the corridors—they were, after all, nothing more than looks. Hecate had been so starved of adult attention that she had obsessed over the most meagre crumbs of interaction from the first pretty face who had walked in.

* * *

When Friday arrived, Hecate had to endure sitting opposite Jennifer Honey at breakfast—and her casual inquiry about where Hecate had been the past two nights hung heavily in the air over the chewy, gelatinous mass of porridge congealing as it cooled in their bowls, and stung her with the guilt that she should have been there to assist her. She was, after all, the deputy headmistress of this school, and she had a duty of care towards all staff members—particularly a non-magical supply teacher who would have benefitted from her experience and guidance on teaching in a magical school. She could not simply hide away in the darkness stargazing while she had a job to do. There were other, more elegant means of ensuring she was otherwise occupied—such as placing herself on detention duty. Yet—that was still hiding by another name, and she had really ought to be present to provide assistance where needed. There were only a few more days left of Jennifer Honey’s employment—Hecate would find a way to cope.

Hecate’s new more tolerant attitude in her teaching was proving ever more difficult for her to tolerate putting into effect. The day passed in infinitesimally slow fragments of time, seemingly—from lunch hour when she had forced down some tough dry bread and an even less palatable carrot and coriander soup that managed to taste curiously bland—until finally—after suffering a tiring afternoon of silly girls testing her patience by being lackadaisical with volatile ingredients, or pretending to pour their potions on their classmates, or _actually_ pouring their potions on their classmates—Hecate retired to her chambers. It was not as though she had ceased handing out punishments entirely, but she had certainly reduced them where it was plausible that the incident had not been caused deliberately. Yet, this had clearly been noted by the girls, who were now testing the boundaries of what they could get away with. The habit of over two decades of her critical approach was hard to break, and she felt as though she were doing everything wrong.

A knocking sounded at the door, and by its rhythm and lightness, Hecate could tell exactly the person requesting entry. She steeled herself before opening her heavy oak door to the familiar sight of Jennifer Honey. 

“Hecate— I’m so glad you’re in,” Jennifer said, her hands squeezing together in front of her in a self-comforting gesture.

“Is there anything the matter, Jennifer?” Hecate asked, sensing at once a change of her usual mood.

Jennifer sighed heavily, and shook her head in an expression of pure exasperation that Hecate had not seen in her before. “The second years in my Spell Science class were driving me up the wall today. I don’t know what’s got into them, but they just wouldn’t listen to a word I said. And then one student’s experiment went wrong and she managed to make her ball bearings multiply exponentially. They went all over the floor—fortunately Dimity managed to get there just as one of the girls tripped over and broke her wrist. And I— can I come in?”

“I—” Hecate looked shiftily off to the side. She could think of no reasonable excuse for not permitting her entry—and she did regret that Jennifer had had a bad day. It sounded as exhausting as hers. “Of course. You are always welcome.”

Hecate stepped aside to allow Jennifer to enter her sitting room, accidentally breathing in the pleasant perfume that she found she could detect occasionally—amber musk, Hecate’s nose estimated—and sensed an unmistakeable quiver in her diaphragm fanning her desire.

Morgana, who was by now used to Jennifer’s presence, slunk up to her, the tip of her tail hooked over in confident inquisitiveness. She coiled between Jennifer’s ankles, letting her tail swish against Jennifer’s calves playfully.

Hecate swept over to the dining table where her tea service already stood—she had used it only an hour ago—and, rolling her eyes at her ridiculous familiar, cast a subtle cleansing spell over it to rid the tea pot and her cup of the old tea leaves and dregs of water.

“Just being here is such a relief after that day,” Jennifer said, making herself at home in the armchair by the fireplace to the sounds of Hecate making tea. Hecate began to spoon a herbal mixture from a jar of a relaxation blend. “I never want to move out of this armchair.”

From the corner of her eye, Hecate watched Morgana leap up into Jennifer’s lap, and curl into a circle, tucking all four paws in with her tail. “Well, you certainly cannot move now that Morgana has claimed your lap as her new bed.”

Hecate brought the tea tray over to the side table next to Jennifer and poured her a cup of tea. Jennifer smiled fondly at the long-haired cat whose presence had already resulted in a quantity of black fur working its way all over her pale yellow dress.

“I have a theory that the girls have been misbehaving of late because I have been less strict with them,” Hecate remarked as she transferred the chair from her bureau opposite the occupied armchair.

“Oh,” Jennifer responded.

Hecate sighed dramatically. “I think they find it a great source of humour that I have _softened_ my teaching style, judging by their new nickname for me that I have heard in the corridors.” 

“I’m sure it’ll pass. Every change has an adjustment period, like getting used to seeing yourself wearing a colour you don’t usually wear, or a new haircut,” Jennifer said in a gentle way. It was the kind of tone that Hecate could imagine her using with young students, yet it was not patronising—even though she could not relate to the examples, since she did not expand her wardrobe very often, and nor had she done anything more than trim her own hair once or twice a year.

“I thought the last nickname would not stick. It has been a good twenty years now,” Hecate said with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“What’s the nickname, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“HB,” Hecate intoned in a despairing voice. “I suppose it could be much worse. I believe there is some type of initiation whereby the older girls inform the first years upon entry to the school, I imagine with a warning about how strict I am.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a nickname given to me by the students,” Jennifer said. “Perhaps I haven’t been in one place long enough.”

They sipped their tea in silence for a while—Hecate trying not to watch too closely as Jennifer stroked Morgana’s luxuriant fur, lost in thought.

“You know, the idea of having a familiar was always so fascinating to me,” Jennifer broke the silence, with her voice hinting at the deep longing that Hecate noted from time to time. “What’s the familiar bond really like? I’ve read about it in books, of course, but they don’t tend to tell the whole story.”

Hecate’s concerns softened as she took pity on Jennifer. “I can tell how she is feeling, and she I,” Hecate began. “It can be a very powerful connection at times. Aside from the usefulness of familiar magic—shared vision, message sending, basic transference, and so on—I cannot imagine my life without her, but I know that owners of quite ordinary cats feel the same way.”

“I have a pet cat,” Jennifer said, tickling under Morgana’s chin in the way that made her stretch up to lean into her hand. “I wanted to be as much like a real witch as I could. Of course, I love her to pieces even though she’s not a real familiar, and can cast as many spells as my wooden spoon.”

Hecate sensed the warmth of Morgana’s soothed mood, as if Hecate herself was feeling the effects of Jennifer stroking Morgana. Even though Hecate was determined to not pressure Jennifer with any indication of her romantic affections, she knew that Morgana would not be quite so curious of Jennifer if Hecate herself was not also more than a little curious, and felt wary that Jennifer might realise this from what Hecate had said about her bond with Morgana.

“Did you not bring your cat with you?” Hecate asked, attempting to distance herself from her last thought. Their conversation felt even more stilted than it had done for days, and Hecate knew it was largely to do with her attempts to conceal her feelings, as well as her deliberate avoidance of Jennifer.

“I don’t think she’d appreciate the train and bicycle journey, to be honest with you. But I thought also that normal cats and magical cats sometimes didn’t get on too well,” Jennifer explained. “But I’m not sure how accurate that is.”

Hecate’s brain filled with solutions that all irritatingly involved magic—which of course was the reason she could not simply have flown over on a broomstick with the cat in the first place. She swallowed her unhelpful intentions to be helpful. “What is her name?”

“Vinegar. She’s the cat familiar from one of my favourite books, Lolly Willowes.”

“What a charming name,” Hecate replied, making a mental note to read the book but knowing that she would most likely not, in order to dissuade her silly schoolgirl crush. “Since you work so often for magical schools, I would have hoped that some provision for your travel had been made.”

“Nothing centrally, since I’m not associated with the Council, so I have to rely on the individual schools to realise. Miss Pentangle offered me a broomstick ride,” Jennifer said, her voice hitching up several tones with this last statement in self-consciousness. “But I haven’t much of a head for heights.”

Hecate’s expression dropped slightly at the mention of Pippa’s name. Jennifer seemed to notice, because her cheeks behind her glasses went pink.

“I— I have a picture of Vinegar, if you’d like to see her?” Jennifer said hastily, seeming eager to steer the subject away from Pippa Pentangle.

Hecate nodded, and Jennifer produced a thin rectangular object Hecate unfortunately knew as one of those mobile telephone things to which Ordinaries seemed so attached. While she tried to banish the jealous thoughts in her mind of Pippa Pentangle sharing her broomstick with a frightened Jennifer Honey clinging to her, Hecate went over to Jennifer’s side to look at the illuminated side of the mobile telephone. She had a glimpse of a picture of Jennifer with her arms around the shoulders of a teenage girl with dark hair in an Amethyst’s uniform before Jennifer’s finger obscured it, and the picture changed. Before Hecate could register what was happening, Jennifer flicked her thumb across the glass, and pictures of the mountain upon which Cackle’s stood shifted in and out of view—except instead of the castle were various angles of a rather unphotogenic mountain peak that Hecate knew did not in fact exist.

“These are some pictures I tried to take of Cackle’s. I suppose there’s an enchantment on the castle to prevent non-magical people from getting past the protective spells with photography.”

“Indeed,” said Hecate rather smugly. “I came up with that one myself, actually. It would be an enormous security risk if someone could photograph the castle and leak it to the non-magical press.”

“I only wanted to take some pictures to show Matilda,” Jennifer muttered.

Hecate felt a jab of guilt. Jennifer had been the one to show her that being non-magical was far from being inferior—and this show of egotism was how she repaid her for her kindness? “I am sure Matilda will get a chance to visit Cackle’s on a school trip. I daresay Hextilda Amethyst will bring her girls here for Imbolc or Ostara. I— could mention the idea to her.”

“It would be incredible if she could actually come to visit! I wish I had some way of recording my time here, though. Today was difficult, to be sure, but— oh, here’s Vinegar.”

A lithe black cat with a white chin looked up imploringly at Hecate, with large yellow eyes, coiled possessively over a half-finished granny square blanket.

“She looks very sweet.” However, instead of looking at Vinegar, Hecate was admiring the distracting way that Jennifer’s lips curved into a smile as she gazed lovingly at the glass surface. She hardly noticed as Morgana, somewhat irritated by the attention paid to the mobile telephone instead of her, stretched, and bounded off. Hecate found herself wondering how anyone could ever want to hurt such a precious person, and her mind fell darkly on Jennifer’s history with Agatha Trunchbull. Hecate knew that she wanted to—at least once— _not_ resemble Jennifer’s aunt for the last few days that she would be at Cackle’s. Her resemblance to Jennifer’s abuser still felt quite raw, like a hangnail she could not be rid of.

“I have a request, if you would indulge me.” Hecate swallowed, standing beside the armchair and suddenly feeling as though she had never held her arms by her sides normally before.

Jennifer put away her mobile telephone, and blinked in surprise and curiosity. “What is it?”

Hecate felt increasingly like she was about to make a terrible mistake, but she could not imagine what else she would say now that she had already mentioned it. “This is an extremely vain proposition, but I find myself at a loss— I do not know how else to— arrange my hair, and I need your assistance in finding something that would— suit,” Hecate managed to finally say—yet, as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt ridiculous. If Dimity had heard her, she would have laughed out loud at the idea of Hecate ever appearing with her hair in any style other than her tight bun. She felt that any of the staff—and especially the students—would be astonished if they saw that Hecate Hardbroom had changed something about her appearance, which had remained staunchly the same for three decades. 

“I— did already tell you that I didn’t need you to do that for me,” Jennifer said evasively.

“I would like to, though,” Hecate admitted, hesitating, and wondering if Jennifer’s reaction was because her words were unwelcome. “Even if it is just—for when we meet in private.”

A smile flickered across Jennifer’s mouth, banishing Hecate’s worry and replacing it with pure distilled panic. “Would you like to try a few things to see what you like? Now, if you don’t have anything more pressing?”

“I would not be opposed to that,” Hecate said, feeling her ears grow unusually warm.

Jennifer stood, idly brushing the cat hair on her dress in vain. “Where do you normally do your hair?”

“At my dressing table in my bedroom.” Hecate led Jennifer to the door to her bedroom. She had never let another person into her bedroom before—it was her private sanctum. Her hand rested upon the door handle for a moment, and she wondered if she really wanted go through with this. She turned the handle.

Even though no one usually saw her bedroom but herself, she was insistent upon its orderliness. The bed was immaculately made, the linen a smooth drape of midnight blue damask, and everything was perfectly in its place—down to the silver wide-toothed comb and brush on the dressing table being aligned exactly parallel with the mirror, and the straight-backed chair tucked in. A wardrobe—a rug—these were the only other objects in the room. A clear room meant a clear mind.

Yet as Hecate lowered herself onto her chair, her mind was anything but clear. 

“Would you like me to—?” Hecate lifted her hand to begin taking her hair down.

“I can do that,” Jennifer closed her hand over Hecate’s poised fingers and lowered it. The air thickened as it fully dawned upon Hecate that she was about to allow Jennifer to be in control of her hair, and that all she could do was sit and allow it to happen. Inside, Hecate knew that this was a whim she should not indulge—Jennifer was _leaving_ , for goodness’ sake—she was a temporary supply teacher, and Hecate had absolutely no logical reason why she should be putting herself in this situation where she would only end up hurt and ultimately even more alone.

Yet it was already set in motion. Hecate felt Jennifer passing a gentle finger up the taut hair at her nape—whether she meant it or not, she found her head bowing in surrender. Her heart hammered to feel Jennifer removing the pins holding her bun in place, and all her carefully balanced sense of control slipped out of alignment as coils of her hair were unleashed and tumbled down to brush her neck, giving way to the almost blissful sensation of humility. Each time a pin clicked as Jennifer dropped it onto the dressing table, Hecate felt herself becoming more and more undone.

She could see in the mirror as Jennifer’s nimble fingers took the last pin out, leaving only a high ponytail that she began to work the elastic from carefully, with the least amount of pressure. Hecate found herself losing her sense of her self-possession as she leaned back into the chair—closer into Jennifer’s hands.

Jennifer coiled her fingers into a handful of Hecate’s loose hair, attempting to coax the curl out the straightness where her hair had been ruthlessly stretched across her scalp all day to tame it into her bun. While it was a pleasurable feeling for Hecate that Jennifer was massaging the roots that had been pulled tight all day, it was doing very little to alter the way that her hair was sticking out at an angle from her head. She closed her eyes and let a shimmer of magic pass over her scalp, and immediately her hair became voluminous with waves, magically refreshed after being trapped all day. Jennifer’s hands leapt back as the magic took effect.

“Did that hurt you?” Hecate asked, panic spiking her voice sharper than she intended.

“No, but I think I— I think I felt your magic,” Jennifer responded, staring at her own hands and rubbing her thumbs over her fingertips, as if trying to find a trace of the sensation upon them.

“My apologies.”

“No— no, it was wonderful—like a tingling shooting through my hands.” Jennifer rested her hands on Hecate’s shoulders, and under the light weight, Hecate felt herself sink further back in the chair.

“My aunt would never let me have longer hair. She said long hair, especially when put into pigtails, was filthy and frivolous—but I think it’s glorious,” Jennifer said, her fingers leaving the sensitive part of her collar bone, and scooped handfuls of the heavy waves off Hecate’s neck and let them fall in a soft cascade. The feeling of the cool air on her nape as Jennifer uncovered it was exquisite.

“Do you have any preferences?” Jennifer said, at Hecate’s reticence.

Hecate had been deliberately quiet—in part because she doubted her ability to speak while in the throes of such pleasure, and in part because she did not want Jennifer to ever stop touching her hair now that she had begun. “Nothing that would make me look like a student,” she murmured.

“I have no interest in making you look like a little girl, Hecate,” replied Jennifer with a teasing smile flashing in the mirror that caused Hecate’s imagination to bubble over like a potion left to its own devices over too high a heat. “Even though pigtails happen to be my speciality.”

Jennifer separated the sides from the back, letting two thick tendrils hang forwards over her shoulders, while the rest she left draped over the back of the chair. Her fingers softly brushed against the outside of her ears as she used her fingers as a comb, letting the locks of hair flow through her hands like spirals of precious silk.

She knelt down on the rug to get better access, and starting from the hair at her temple, began to separate some of the curls out into equal parts, lifting the rest over the other side of her head temporarily. It would only take a single flick of her eyes for Hecate to see that perfectly serene face—Jennifer was so close, and her fingers worked tantalisingly slowly. She tried to keep her breathing steady, even though her lungs were shuddering against her beating heart.

The temptation was too strong. Her eyes wandered unbidden over to her side—Jennifer’s eyes immediately met hers.

“Are you all right, Hecate?”

Hecate tore herself away from those deep brown eyes, into which she felt she could pour her entire heart if given a fragment of a chance. “Yes.” 

“Your hair is so gorgeous to work with,” Jennifer continued nonchalantly. “I’m sorry for taking up your time, but I want to do you justice.”

Hecate did not respond. She felt Jennifer forming a loose braid that travelled over the side of her head, weaving her hair over and through. Jennifer shifted out of Hecate’s peripheral vision as she continued the plait through to the back of her head. Taking one of the pins from the table, she secured the end of the plait, along with the other loose section of hair, before going to Hecate’s right side. Jennifer drew the bundle of curls through her hands, guiding it with each stroke through her hands to lie neatly back, twisting it gently—and then held the two parts firmly in one hand, ensuring that all the hair was smoothly swept back from her forehead and the sides with no flyaways. Then—Hecate saw from a glance in the mirror— her other hand went to her cardigan pocket and pulled out a black silk ribbon. She tied a simple bow, and then went about making some gentle adjustments until she was satisfied.

“I’m sorry, I really should have given you this ribbon back earlier,” Jennifer said, a slight waver in her voice. “Do you think this works?”

Hecate looked at herself in the mirror. “I—” She turned her head one way to see the plait, and then the other to see the other side, where the curls were artfully drawn back in a twist. She was not sure how to process the sight of herself looking so different—while she did wear her hair down on important days in the witching calendar, as was tradition, she usually used a spell to tame her hair from the wildness that her hair naturally inclined towards. She had never considered letting the curls and waves show while her hair was down.

Jennifer slipped her hands into both of Hecate’s and exerted the barest amount of pressure to encourage her to stand up. Hecate got to her feet, suddenly feeling altogether too close to her as her hip accidentally brushed against Jennifer’s before she had a chance to step back. Jennifer stroked Hecate’s back through her thick cascade of hair, as they both looked into the mirror together—Hecate’s hands pulsed with heat, and tears began to overcome her vision, and she wiped the underside of her eyelid. Jennifer smiled shyly. 

“Thank you,” Hecate said thickly through her tears. She was uncertain as to what she was feeling, but the polite approach was a necessity. After all, this had been a favour that she had asked of Jennifer. “I— I am not used to seeing myself like this.”

Jennifer put her hand on Hecate’s arm. “I know, but you could get used to it. If you want to, that is. We could always try another style if you feel this one isn’t you.”

Hecate was overwhelmed. Her ears, normally exposed by her high bun, somehow felt more naked with soft hair just lapping over and flowing behind them. While her hairline was similar, the hair was teased back gently, so that there was volume. The hard outline of her head was no longer visible. And then, suddenly, she became aware of Jennifer’s hand on her arm, like a brand.

“I am sure I will be able to— manage something.” Hecate said, retracting her arm from under the offending contact and starting to usher her from her bedroom. She had indulged this particular fantasy with Jennifer Honey for long enough.

“I hope I’ve helped you in some way,” responded Jennifer, her posture closing inwards as she realised she was being dismissed.

“You have.”

“—Because you’ve helped me in so many ways, Hecate. I wish I could properly return the favour.” 

Hecate swallowed. This—artistic arrangement of soft waves and elegant braids—Hecate could not imagine anyone seeing this and thinking of Hecate Hardbroom, Deputy Headmistress. It was too free—too _joyful_ to be her. She wanted to take it down—to return to some semblance of restraint and sanity.

Jennifer hovered by the door. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were hard to read. “I suppose I’d better check over all my notes for tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Of course. Good night, Jennifer,” Hecate said in a final tone, and closed the door on her before she could have a chance to change her mind.

As soon as she was alone, Hecate let herself slide down the door, her hands trembling as they passed over the bumps of the plait. Locating the fabric of the ribbon between her fingertips, she wanted to pull it loose, but she let it pass through her fingers. She rose from her crumpled position on the floor, and fled back through to her dressing table mirror to examine her reflection. Her eyes were swollen slightly with tears. Hecate tried to see herself from a stranger’s perspective—the hairstyle was certainly beautifully made—but it jarred with her features, which she knew betrayed years beyond which she had lived.

Sweet, patient Jennifer Honey—she had done nothing wrong, yet Hecate had driven her away like a troublesome student. What kind of a cruel witch was Hecate that she could not properly appreciate Jennifer for all her kindness towards herself, in spite of her habit for being intractable and obstinate? What had commenced as an intimate moment had fast been overcome by Hecate’s shame, and the blame only lay with herself.

What did she want from Jennifer Honey? Leaning on her elbows and pressing her thumbs against her brow, she tried to imagine the harm that would come from merely admitting her feelings for her. Did she want to protect Jennifer from herself? If there was even the slightest chance that Jennifer—

A faint ringing of a bell cut in through her thoughts. Jennifer needed her. Putting aside her emotions, she tore herself away from the mirror and headed for her door, leaving Morgana glaring wide-eyed at her from the armchair Jennifer had been seated in earlier, as Hecate’s swiftness interrupted her rest.

Hecate stole down the dark corridor, wary that any of the other teachers present could have heard the bell, but there were no signs of light scattering across the cold stone underfoot from under any of the doors but Jennifer’s. Battling with herself even as she did so, Hecate knocked softly at the door— and after a conscious pause, it creaked open.

“You— needed me,” Hecate began, her voice wooden with the suppression of her own needs. 

“Hecate,” Jennifer said, her eyes slightly sore. It looked like she had perhaps shed a few tears herself. “Would you come in for a moment?”

Hecate nodded wordlessly, and as Jennifer stepped aside, she felt her presence keenly, panic gripping her chest as she anticipated a scolding for her atrocious behaviour.

It was surprising how different Jennifer’s accommodations were from her own—whether it was that the furniture was more welcoming to guests or that Jennifer’s touch was less spartan than hers—it seemed altogether more lived in even though she had been here not even a fortnight. Yet right now, Hecate felt like an intruder rather than a guest.

“I think I should apologise for my abruptness earlier,” Hecate stated. “I can see that I have upset you.”

Jennifer shook her head. “It isn’t your fault, Hecate. That’s not why I asked you here.” 

“But I—”

“No,” Jennifer interrupted her, brow furrowed. “Listen to me. Hecate, I _know_ you’re struggling. Believe me. I’ve had to battle against the demons that Agatha instilled in me for years—but I didn’t struggle alone, like you have had to. I’m upset, but not at you. I’m upset because I know the reason you’ve been distancing yourself from me is because you worry you’re going to hurt the people close to you. Am I wrong?”

“No,” was all Hecate could say. She bowed her head.

“I’ve been trying to get closer to you—ever since we went for that lovely walk in the grounds last weekend. But you keep pushing me away. I don’t want to force you into anything you’re uncomfortable with, but I want you to know that— that I care.”

What did she mean? Did she— could she mean—? It was not possible. 

Jennifer took one step towards her, and then another. “May I hug you?”

“If you would like,” Hecate responded demurely, her mind numb with her attempts to understand the concept of Jennifer actually caring about her.

“But what would you like?”

Hecate felt the emotions all at once devastating her—bursting through the shell she had built around herself. She had not realised that what she wanted had ever been important. All her years, she had led her life by someone else’s idea of how she should be. She had never been asked what she wanted.

Jennifer took Hecate in her arms and pressed herself against her. Hecate let herself be held while she cried against Jennifer’s hair, allowing everything else in the world to quieten for a moment—pretending that Pippa Pentangle was not going to be arriving at the castle tomorrow.

“Is this all right?” Jennifer whispered.

Hecate nodded, and felt Jennifer’s arms tighten around her. She was ashamed—like a child who could not control their emotions—but Jennifer was patient, and Jennifer was here, and Jennifer was now. Even if it was just ‘for now’, Hecate realised that she would fall apart regardless of whether she told her how she really felt. 

When the warmth of their bodies finally parted, Jennifer asked, “let me do something different with your hair, please? I can tell you need something a bit more—you.”

Hecate stiffened her shoulders self-consciously. She did not realised she was so easy to read. “I did not wish to disappoint you by not trying.”

“You can’t disappoint me for not liking something,” Jennifer squeezed Hecate’s hand gently.

Hecate allowed herself to be led over to Jennifer’s dressing table, and sat upon the stool.

Jennifer tugged on the ribbon, and let it pool on the wooden surface. She began freeing Hecate’s hair from its bonds until it hung loosely around her face. Hecate watched in the mirror as Jennifer began gathering all of her hair behind her. Emotionally exhausted, it was all she could do to breathe and let herself be lost again in the sensation of Jennifer’s hands—now she was easing her hair gradually over to one side, before inserting some pins up the back of her head from a little decorative box inlaid with mother of pearl. Hecate felt the pressure increase as Jennifer twisted the huge sheaf of her hair over itself, back in towards her nape until it tucked neatly against her head in an elegant French twist, and pinned it securely in place. 

As Jennifer smoothed the hair up from behind her ears—a sensation which caused Hecate to shiver slightly in response—Hecate managed to say, “it’s— quite lovely.” 

“Do you mean it?” Jennifer looked into her eyes in the mirror, her expression hopeful.

“I do.” It had all the practicality of her high bun, but without as much of the harshness. Her hair’s natural texture did somewhat spoil the sleekness of the style, but Hecate found that she did not hate it. “Thank you.”

Jennifer put her hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “Do you think you’ll wear it again like this?”

“I cannot promise you, but—”

“I understand. More than you know,” Jennifer said, the warmth of her voice resonating in Hecate’s chest.

Hecate rose from the stool, and after a second thought, picked up the black silk ribbon from the dressing table. “I hope that I have not interrupted your preparations for tomorrow.”

“No, don’t worry about it. This was much more important,” Jennifer insisted eagerly, but then her mouth twisted. “But I do need to look over my notes again. You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

“I— I think I should get some rest.”

Jennifer walked her to the door, her movements strangely buoyant. “It is getting quite late.”

The ribbon was still clutched in Hecate’s hand. “You— you said you wanted a keepsake from your stay here, since you cannot take photographs. I know it is not much, but perhaps this will remind you of the time you have spent here—”

Hecate unfurled her tightly curled fingers from the ribbon, and presented her open hand to Jennifer.

Jennifer took it delicately and fingered the silky fabric. “It’s perfect, Hecate. Thank you.” Her eyes glinted with an unspoken emotion, even with the low light by the door.

Hecate felt a flicker of a smile cross her face. “I shall bid you good night, then.”

Jennifer returned the smile, and a pinkness tinted her cheeks behind her glasses. “Good night, Hecate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer than i thought because i decided to change the ending of the chapter entirely, and also because of the s4 trailer dropping
> 
> let me know if you l,liked it,,
> 
> thank you for reading!!! :')
> 
> lots of love   
> heathcliff  
> @heathtrash on twitter and tumblr


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippa Pentangle comes to Cackle's to deliver her workshop with Jennifer Honey, but will this complicate the tentative feelings between Hecate and Jennifer?

When Hecate transferred into the Great Hall for breakfast that morning in a whirl of misty particles, she found herself astonished that the world had not immediately come crashing down her ears over what she felt was a drastic alteration to her appearance.

As she had dressed herself that morning, in the darkness of the early January morning, she had recalled the time Pippa had criticised her for her proclivities towards black clothing and how “last century” her attire had been. Hecate was not going to be goaded into changing what she wore for anyone, least of all _her_. 

And yet, she _had_ changed one thing about her appearance—her hair was not in its usual bun. It was styled into something like the French twist that Jennifer had shown her the night before, but this had nothing to do with Pippa Pentangle and everything to do with the fact that today would be Jennifer Honey’s last at Cackle’s. She had, however, made one change to the style to ease herself into the transition—she had cast the spell to make her hair straight. One change would be more than enough for the school—and for Hecate herself.

Gwendolyn and Algernon, who had arrived late last night, were sat at the breakfast table looking altogether too relaxed, holding hands in a way that Hecate thought improper for that time of morning. Hecate rolled her eyes as they exchanged even more insufferable pet names than usual—Algernon was apparently Gwendolyn’s “handsome frog prince”, and she his “little hemidemisemiquaver”. Neither of them had noticed Hecate taking her seat, and not one of the pupils at the long dining tables was even looking her way—presumably they were much more distracted by their overly amorous Chanting and Spell Science professors gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes over bowls of gluey porridge. Hecate found she had rather lost her appetite, unsure whether the display in front of her, the day’s upcoming events, the less than appetising porridge, or the fact of her altered hairstyle had more to do with this, and after draining her tea cup, prepared to vacate the table for the sanctity of her own chambers.

Just as she was about to rise from her seat, the white knitted fabric of Jennifer’s cardigan came into view—a slender hand hanging by her side, mostly engulfed in a sleeve that was just a touch too long for her. Her hair, rather than being tucked behind her ears, was tied in a low elegant plait, and—secured with Hecate’s black silk ribbon.

“Good morning, Miss Honey,” Hecate said suddenly, all too eager for company that did not consist of two insufferable lovebirds.

“Miss Hardbroom,” Jennifer replied, her eyes warm behind her glasses. “I love what you’ve done with your hair today.”

Hecate flushed as Gwendolyn and Algernon stopped their cooing at the sound of Jennifer’s words, and gawped at Hecate—but she also flushed as she wondered if she should return the compliment. Yet— would that be too obvious? Algernon’s expression told her that he was still puzzling to figure out what it was that had been changed, whereas Gwendolyn nodded approvingly and gave a smile that did not grant its usual wrinkle to the corner of her eye, as if she were searching for Hecate’s reasoning behind this highly uncharacteristic move.

Hecate extended her fingers and Jennifer’s customary chair slid out soundlessly, welcoming her to sit opposite her. A shy smile crossed Jennifer’s face as she seated herself, adjusting the drape of her floral dress under the table as she did so.

“Did you manage to find some time to prepare last night?” Hecate asked quietly, as Gwendolyn and Algernon returned to being impervious to the world around them.

“I did. Thank you, Miss Hardbroom,” Jennifer said warmly, with a smile that held all the pleasures of the previous night.

Hecate felt helpless under her gaze for a moment, before, from amidst the noise filling the hall, a student’s mention of “Miss Pentangle—” pierced the air between them, and sobered her immediately. There was much to get through today, and the warm sensation under her skin that happened whenever Jennifer looked her way was not going to help matters.

* * *

Pippa was due to arrive at ten o’clock that morning, and even though the students had no involvement in the workshop, they were all too aware of Miss Pentangle’s upcoming visit, as her popularity, generosity, and upbeat attitude were something of a legend among the Cackle’s girls.

There was nothing the Hecate or the rest of the staff could do to prevent the clusters of girls crowding the cloisters by the inner courtyard, where Ada, Jennifer, Dimity, and herself were awaiting Pippa, who would most likely alight from her broomstick in a shower of sunbeams and rainbows—never one to miss an opportunity to impress her glamour upon all who saw her.

After some time, when the girls’ heads craned skyward lit up with the excitement, the dismal clouds parted before a distinctly pink figure upon a broomstick. Hecate wanted to roll her eyes but found herself unable to express the disdain she knew she ought to be feeling.

Ada led a round of applause as Pippa, radiant in the golden light of her weather spell, gently descended upon the grass of the courtyard. Not an inch of her did not seem perfectly put together—her hat rose smoothly from a chic hairstyle Hecate was sure would have met with Jennifer’s approval. Hecate glanced over, leaning subtly behind Ada to see—but she could not get an uninterrupted assessment of Jennifer’s face.

Each time Hecate saw Pippa it felt like her heart would break all over again, and even today, it was no different—the tilt of her head as she joyfully greeted Ada—and then as she looked over Ada’s shoulder as they embraced, the dark brown of Pippa’s eyes turned onto her—Hecate felt all the breath draw out of her as the cinders of all their history together flared with a sudden heat. No matter how many years passed—the time was never going to be enough to forget the way that Pippa had made her feel after all that had transpired between them. 

Pippa broke eye contact with Hecate to greet Jennifer, whom she held closely to her body in a way that looked a little more than friendly. It was a peculiar experience to see two people whom one had feelings for—whether past or present—so clearly enraptured with each other. Even as she looked between Pippa and Jennifer, Hecate felt a strange ghost of guilt of her own unfaithfulness to Pippa—or was it to Jennifer? Yet Pippa no longer felt that way for her, and nor did she wish for Pippa to look at her the way she once had. That chapter of her life had been closed now. Her feelings for Jennifer, while definitely unrequited, had blossomed out of the foundations she had laid in the path towards her healing, and she knew that Pippa—beautiful—compassionate—single-minded—had no role in her life that could be reconciled with the person she hoped to become.

Hecate wondered—did Pippa know Jennifer Honey’s full story? Had Jennifer told her everything in the way that she had told Hecate? She looked mutely on as Jennifer and Pippa’s animated exchange revealed to her a depth of relationship she had only guessed at; Jennifer’s eyes sparkled with a new light that Hecate craved to feel upon her own skin, and Pippa returned it with her own natural enthusiasm. Between the three of them, Hecate knew she was the least approachable and forthcoming—and yet even though she had such an awareness, the ease with which they spoke—as if they had known each other a lifetime—put Hecate’s heart in its place. Of course Jennifer must have confided in Pippa all the secrets Hecate had thought that she alone had been privy to knowing—she was foolish to think that she alone was Jennifer’s confidant. Hecate had only had that kind of connection with Pippa—before Mistress Broomhead had began planting the seeds of Hecate’s repression. 

Eventually they parted—Pippa not seeming to want to relinquish her tender hold of Jennifer’s arm—and Hecate thought she detected an unease on Jennifer’s part at being held so—but it must have been her imagination, because now Jennifer was smiling in what was surely a shy manner as Pippa’s eyes slid from hers.

Hecate froze as Pippa approached her at last—an impenetrable force in pink, marching over to where she had been stiffly observing the greetings.

“Well met, Hecate,” Pippa said, an uncertain smile on her lips. “You’ve done something different with your hair, I see. It must be quite the change for you after thirty years.”

It was astonishing how Pippa could manage to floor Hecate with the simplest of statements. Dimity’s eyes widened in suppressed mirth, while Jennifer’s smile evaporated as she caught Pippa’s words.

“I had not realised that my appearance was so notable to you,” Hecate returned sharply.

Pippa gave a false smile that clearly said to Hecate, _It isn’t, but I’m above such pettiness._

She turned smartly from Hecate to Miss Drill, who eagerly accepted Pippa’s broomstick—the tail end of which was threaded through with pink blossoms. Dimity scurried off to the staff broom shed to keep it safe, admiring it as she went.

Hecate followed along silently behind Pippa and Jennifer with Ada as they proceeded indoors. It had already begun—the subtle series of jabs that Hecate had come to expect from Pippa. She knew that she deserved it. Pippa had only developed such a hostility towards her because Hecate had held the truth back from her and let her come to her own conclusions about why Hecate had left her. Their reconciliation was still far from over, and as she glared at the students who whispered in excitement over Pippa Pentangle’s presence at Cackle’s and giggled at Hecate’s hair, she knew that this was going to be a very long day.

Hecate did not think she could manage the reception in Ada’s office towards which they were heading; she was emotionally exhausted merely from the few moments she had already spent under Pippa’s scrutiny. She paused at the head of the staircase, letting the two witches in front proceed a few steps before turning to a puzzled Ada.

“Ada, I need to attend to some other business until the workshop begins officially.” 

“Can it wait, Hecate?” Ada responded in a hushed voice, her brow wrinkling. “We really should try to show our guest some hospitality. There’ll be tea—and I made sure there would be some of those lemon squares of Miss Tapioca’s that I know you are secretly fond of.”

“I believe it cannot wait,” Hecate said gravely. Not even the promise of Ada’s special blend of tea, or indeed, Miss Tapioca’s lemon squares, could persuade her to stay and be insulted by Pippa Pentangle for any longer than was necessary today.

Ada inhaled deeply and nodded. “Well, you know where we’ll be.”

* * *

After a good half hour of pressing her fingers into her eye sockets, drinking an infusion of chamomile and lemon balm, and stroking an unusually complaisant Morgana—who normally would not endure such a rude awakening from her Saturday morning nap—Hecate managed to more or less dispel the Pippa-induced tension that had bound itself around her head.

She checked her hair in her dressing table mirror, trying not to relive how Jennifer had stood there behind her last night. She almost had half a mind to tear down the French twist she had spent considerable time perfecting that morning in light of Pippa’s comments, but felt that would raise more eyebrows than if she let it be—and it might disappoint Jennifer. If she achieved anything today, she hoped that it would involve she and Jennifer parting on good terms.

Hecate, new resolve bolstering her spirits, transferred down from her chambers to the second floor. Even out in the corridor, a strange caterwauling could be heard from the Chanting classroom. Hecate turned the handle of the door and stalked in imperiously, ready to turn out whomever was causing the racket in the room they were to have this ludicrous workshop, only to discover that those responsible were none other than Gwendolyn and Algernon. Both were sat on the same piano stool, playing and singing a lively duet of the popular song _I’ll Keep Your Cauldron Bubbling All Through The Night_. Algernon was supplying the plodding bass notes, while Gwendolyn’s fingers danced across several octaves. 

Hecate cleared her throat. Neither Gwendolyn nor Algernon seemed to notice that she had opened the creaky door, entered, or tried to make her presence known. She resigned herself to being figuratively invisible for the next twenty minutes, in which she endured renditions of _I’ll Witch Over You_ , _No Cure For A Potion Like Yours_ , and—evidently a favourite, _I’ve Kissed Many A Frog (But None So Handsome As You)_ , since it ended in them both latching onto each other’s mouths in such an alarming manner that Hecate felt that she had to interrupt, lest she become witness to some activity not suitable for the Chanting classroom, or her delicate sensibilities.

“Even though it _is_ a Saturday, I do believe that such activities should be restricted to your _private_ chambers.”

“Miss Hardbroom!” Gwendolyn exclaimed, after breaking away from Algernon with a squeal of surprise. She was already pink in the cheeks from the kiss, and was now blushing profusely at Hecate’s comment, with a very bashful Algernon grinning beside her. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to know that you have not been tidying the classroom, as you offered to do over breakfast,” Hecate remarked, tapping her nails against the desk at which she had been sitting.

“Tidying the classroom— yes,” Gwendolyn said, blinking furiously to restore her concentration. She gave a little cough, took the baton from behind her ear and began swishing it about in the air, conducting the scattered sheets of chanting music, odd quills, and percussive instruments to order themselves, and tottering exercise books to straighten on the shelves to the trills of a tidying chant.

Algernon joined her hesitantly, waving his arms to desperately try to encourage some shy scrubbing brushes to make a start on the graffitied desks. Hecate watched him for a moment before sighing heavily, and flicking an idle finger, caused all the ink to seep out of the woodgrain in droplets and vanish as they dripped to the floor.

“ _Wizards_ ,” she muttered under her breath, as Algernon thanked her sheepishly.

Between them, mostly due to Hecate’s competence with household spells, they had the place swept and spotless, before the sound of adult voices outside the door caused Hecate’s stomach to curl up into itself. 

The door swung open to reveal the always startlingly pink dress of Pippa Pentangle, who entered with a bow to Gwendolyn and Algernon. She stood by the door of the classroom, welcoming all in with a smile. After all the staff were accounted for, Pippa closed the door, and Pippa’s expression barely faltered when she saw that Hecate was standing by the piano at the front, but it was enough for Hecate to register.

Hecate took her seat beside Ada, who had brought in a mug of hot chocolate and settled at one of the students’ desks. For Hecate, the chair felt far too small, and the desk too low, and her knees were cramped underneath—but she tensed her jaw and sat upright and attentive.

Jennifer stood next to Pippa by the piano, looking out over everyone meekly, arms tight to her body around a bundle of folders and papers. She was taller than Pippa, who even in her heels was a good few inches shorter than Jennifer—but Jennifer had no presence or command compared with Pippa, whose beaming pink smile and charismatic grace in her movements made her a natural performer. Hecate felt certain that Jennifer would be far more confident were she in front of a class of students, rather than a class of adult witches.

Ada rose from her seat to address the staff present. “It is my joy to present our main speakers today—Miss Pippa Pentangle and Miss Jennifer Honey.”

“Thank you all for coming along today,” Pippa began, bobbing her head in acknowledgement of Ada’s words and all in attendance.

Jennifer put down on Gwendolyn’s strangely empty desk the pile of things she had been clutching to her chest—a folder with the Cackle’s crest on the front visible to Hecate on top. She began speaking, in a trembling voice that Hecate softened to hear, “we are all here for the same reason. We are driven by our passion for educating the next generation, and so we should always be heading towards the further improvement of our curriculum, and aiming to produce a more well-rounded education for the witches of the future.”

Jennifer gave a nervous glance to Pippa, who nodded in agreement with her statements, before taking over from her. 

“As educators, we should constantly try to adapt our methods for what is best for our students, rather than blindly follow the old ways,” here Pippa paused to let her eyes trail over Hecate, “which can be alienating and divisive to our students from more diverse backgrounds. That means, we need to be accommodating to advancements in new methods of teaching, not just advancements in witching research. In this way, we can not only deliver the most competitive education, but also the most enriching and nurturing. That’s why, at Pentangle’s, we focus as much on our extra-curricular activities and combine newer, more modern attitudes towards teaching.”

Hecate bristled. Pippa’s words were like barbs—not necessarily because Hecate let them be particularly insulting to her, but because she knew that Pippa meant them to test her patience. She tuned her attention back as Jennifer began to speak again.

“By modernising a few of our approaches, we can hope to keep up Cackle’s Academy’s reputation as not only one of the oldest academies in Britain, but as one of the brightest stars in witching education.”

Ada led a brief round of applause that woke Gwendolyn with a start—“is it lunch time yet?” she asked Algernon groggily—and Hecate joined in cautiously, withholding judgment on how much this would really improve the academy’s reputation.

Glowing slightly with renewed confidence, Jennifer addressed them again. “The motto of this school is _Strive_ , and I think that’s a noble message to pass onto our students. But what _should_ we be striving for at Cackle’s?” She looked about the room.

 _Excellence_ , Hecate thought to herself, though she realised the question was not rhetorical. _And yet, that is precisely the trap into which Pippa would want me to fall._

“Doing our best?” Dimity suggested.

“That’s exactly what we want to hear,” Pippa piped up. “Keep them coming.”

Hecate rolled her eyes as Pippa drew up a mind map on the chalkboard in her own shimmering pink chalk, taking suggestions from the floor and adding them around the concept of _Strive_. They gathered a collection of deeply over-generalised, wishy-washy ideas about the fundamental cornerstones of education.

“Hecate, you’ve been quiet so far,” Pippa said, fixing Hecate with a challenging look. “Anything you’d like to contribute to the discussion?” 

Hecate looked directly back at Pippa, the anxiety fizzing in her blood. She wanted to say something that would give her pause. “Compassion,” she returned, her voice finding clarity as her vision tore away to settle on Jennifer.

Jennifer’s expression melted from serious professionalism to the look she had often exchanged with Hecate over a cup of honeyed tea in the evening as she gazed back at her.

“Compassion?” Pippa’s eyebrows arched high. “That’s a good one.” She was so taken aback that it took her a few moments to remember to add it to the mind map.

Hecate, however, was not wondering what Pippa Pentangle made of her suggestion—seeing Jennifer look at her that way prevented her from all other rational thought for a good few minutes.

Pippa, meanwhile, launched into an activity where they set about turning the concepts of _Strive_ into actionable strategies for teaching—what a lesson trying to encourage initiative, leadership, community, or compassionate qualities might look like. Hecate had realised the formula of the session much earlier on, and it was only due to her loyalty to Jennifer that she tried to at least look as though she were paying attention. It was deeply unfortunate that marking homework while listening would have been frowned upon, even though she knew she would be able to keep track of the stultifyingly slow progression through the first session’s activities.

As the discussion progressed, it became increasingly apparent to Hecate that these modern teaching methods tended towards things that she would personally find very challenging were she a student, such as social exercises, alternatives to formal written homework, student-led learning, and being taught through different senses. Her expression must have been rather obvious, because Jennifer asked kindly, “is there something troubling you, Miss Hardbroom?”

Hecate took a deep breath and sighed. “I have some concerns about some of these techniques not being compatible with some of my students. There is a great deal of emphasis on a certain style of learning that would be to the detriment of many of my students who need more direction and find comfort in traditional methods.”

“They’ll have to adapt,” Pippa butted in. “It’ll take some getting used to, like anything new.”

There was the barest twitch of a muscle in Jennifer’s brow as she shot a glance to Pippa. “I think what Miss Hardbroom is trying to say is that not all students’ learning styles are suited to social learning, and I fully agree. In trying to cater towards a wider range of abilities and personality types, someone is going to be left behind. Not all students are comfortable in that environment, nor should they be forced to be. We need them to know that it’s not bad to need quiet learning time, or to need clearer instruction in a way that perhaps is not seen as “fun” to others.”

“I believe we can come to a compromise,” Hecate responded, a warmer tone to her voice as she felt the rest of the room melt away, leaving only herself and Jennifer. “I do not think there is any one correct way of teaching. Some students will respond better to some approaches than others, and it is our duty as teachers to listen to how our students respond to these and adjust accordingly.”

From this point, Jennifer started a discussion activity of the options of making the classroom more accessible to a variety of needs, including silencing spells that would block out unwanted sounds for some students, and always having the option for solitary work when group work was scheduled, and vice versa. 

As Pippa cheerfully announced that they would be trying something “fun” next, Hecate rolled her eyes. If there was one thing she was hoping to glean from today, _fun_ was not it.

“—But first, a very important thing we should address is—when you look around the room, what’s the first thing you notice?” 

At the silence, Pippa raised her voice again, “These rows of tables!” She strutted down one of the aisles to demonstrate, tapping tables as she went. “We’ve got to move away from serried ranks of desks. They divide the class and put the focus of everyone’s attention directly towards the teacher. What we want the girls to believe is that everyone can have something important to say—everyone’s opinion is worth something, and that their input is just as vital to learning as the teacher’s.”

Hecate looked on, exasperated, as Pippa described the effects of different formations of desks on teaching and learning environments. She saw little relevance of this to Potions, where the laboratory work benches could hardly be shuffled about easily, owing to the pillars supporting the structure of the castle—which seemed more useful than the girls being able to see and talk to one another, which they could and already _would_ do in the middle of her lessons, but dutifully copied down the diagrams for the sake of having something to pass the time.

“And now, let’s practice what we preach. Everyone get up, and help transform these prison cell rows into a round table.”

Hecate reluctantly rose to her feet, and joined her magic together with the other staff to gather all the desks into a block into the centre of the room, and then fuse them together into a perfect circle. Dimity scooted her chair back to the new, single table with an awful scraping sound, while Hecate elegantly levitated hers.

Across the table, Hecate could see Miss Honey’s small smile as Pippa used the interlude to pour forth effusively about Miss Honey’s compassionate approach to teaching and how wonderful it was that she had affected magic schools across the country, despite being non-magical herself. It sounded an awful lot like when Hecate had told her, _“For all my magic, Jennifer, mine does not compare to yours”_ , and Hecate glumly considered that every way in which Hecate had attempted to compliment Jennifer was something she must have already heard, and therefore Jennifer must have only been humouring her the entire time. Pippa and Jennifer’s eyes were so connected that Hecate felt a bubble of anxiety tinged with a thorny overgrowth of jealousy filling her lungs, making less space for her to breathe. It was an ugly emotion, but Hecate felt ugly.

“Now I think we should start a little bit of _roleplay_ ,” Pippa said, smirking slightly at Jennifer in a way that made Hecate’s barely stable sense of control waver—skin stretched across white knuckles as she made a fist on the table and long nails dug into her palm. 

Pippa tapped a space on the chalk board, causing a list of one-on-one roleplay scenarios that they would be practicing to appear. “We’ll start with simple restoration of confidence—no magic involved. I’ll be the student, who’s just made a big mistake in the classroom, and Miss Honey will be my teacher.”

Pippa sat down on a chair, and enacted what may have been a comical articulation of woe, were it not for Hecate’s mood. Jennifer, serious as ever, crouched down to Pippa’s level—and while Hecate could not see Pippa’s expression from her position, Jennifer was gazing at Pippa with such soft eyes, unwavering as she began to reassure her with soothing words. Jennifer was almost directly in Hecate’s eyeline—it would would only take the briefest flick of her eyes for them to make eye contact. Perhaps it was simply the exercise—perhaps it was simply that this was the way that Jennifer regarded her students (and well would Hecate have believed it, knowing as she did how the students worshipped Jennifer Honey)—but Hecate wished those eyes were for her, and that she was worthy of them, and of the attention that she was giving to Pippa. Yet, Jennifer had not looked her way when it would have been so simple for her to do so. 

As Pippa and Jennifer broke down Jennifer’s body language and analysed how she had behaved as the teacher in the roleplay, Hecate stared into the empty lines of her notebook and wished that this day was already over, that Jennifer had already flown off with Pippa on her broomstick, and that she never had to see either of them again. She was still numb as Jennifer invited them all to pair up and instructed them to master each technique in turn before moving onto the next scenario, and it was only after Ada rose from her seat next to her that she begrudgingly did the same.

The roleplay exercises were to continue until lunch. Hecate had checked the clock on the wall at least twelve times in the first ten minutes, even though it was a good hour before they were due to break for lunch. Perhaps playing the student role to Ada’s teacher was taking her back across the years when Ada _had_ taught her Witchery and History of Witchcraft, for she found herself aching for lunch in a way that she had not felt since her first year as a student here.

Ada must have realised it too, because she had remarked, “here we are once more, Hecate,” when Hecate had first relinquished the role of teacher to Ada. They had known each other for so many years that it felt in no way awkward—that nagging sensation in her stomach was purely reserved for the way that Pippa and Jennifer were wandering the classroom and providing demonstrations, with Pippa placing a carefree hand on Jennifer’s lower back to guide her around the room to where they were needed most. 

It was over mercifully quickly after the initial drag—working with Ada made it far more tolerable. Ada frequently drew inspiration in acting the student role from her recollections of difficult students in the past—and this together with Hecate’s own attempts to handle those actually managed to make it entertaining, even if Pippa’s frankly compulsive need to touch Jennifer in plain sight was more than a little strenuous on Hecate’s self-composure.

“Thank you, Pippa and Jenny, for a marvellous morning,” Ada said at last, leading a polite applause that Gwendolyn and Algernon were a little slow in taking up. “I think now we more than deserve a spot of lunch.”

 _Pippa and Jenny_ —even their names sounded familiar together, as if Hecate could easily see the course of their future mapped out in one another’s company with just how perfectly they seemed to fit together.

Hecate could barely hear Ada as she walked with her down to the Great Hall. It had been foolish of her to think that she could even contemplate the idea of herself and Jennifer being—together. Jennifer could hardly be forgiven for neglecting to look her way when Pippa Pentangle was there, bright of outfit and outlook, drawing from Jennifer’s energy and spinning it back to her. Hecate by comparison felt like her presence merely served to dampen the mood—like a well that sucked in Jennifer’s warmth and kindness, with nothing to offer in return. The happiness that Jennifer and Pippa shared when they caught the other’s eye, or complimented each other boldly even in the company of others—that careless happiness could never be hers. 

They made the perfect team, professionally as well as personally. Miss Jennifer Honey’s quiet intelligence was balanced with Headmistress Pippa Pentangle’s effusive exuberance, and Hecate’s personality, no matter how she attempted to change it to suit, was jagged and incongruent with the lightness of either Pippa or Jennifer. Both deserved someone who would bring out the best in them, and Hecate was that to neither of them.

They entered the Great Hall, Hecate’s thoughts keeping her from responding with more than a mumble of agreement at periodic intervals. Though she had little clue what Ada was telling her, as she sat with her amidst the sound of a slowly filling hall, she felt at least as though she were not wholly invisible to everyone in her life.

Pippa led Jennifer—and Hecate had to do a double take to convince herself that they were not holding hands—to the opposite end of the table from Hecate, who sighed as Gwendolyn and Algernon settled near her. Between their obliviousness to everything around them and Ada’s attention, which was now drawn towards the magnanimous Pippa, and away from Hecate’s reticence, Hecate was in a dead zone between conversations. She irritably dug her knife into the tough crust of her jacket potato, which had seen the inside of an oven for far longer than was necessary. Butter could make it tolerable—but the dish was over by Jennifer. Hecate normally would try politeness first and ask for the butter to be passed to her, but Jennifer had just laughed at a comment Pippa had made, and so she felt no remorse as she levitated the butter dish down the table towards her. Jennifer, none the wiser, continued to enjoy the jovial company of Pippa on one side and Dimity and Ada on her other.

The lively conversation came to a lull as a few students approached the table, carrying various brightly-coloured boxes. Sybil Hallow was at the front, chewing her lip as Jennifer turned her serene smile onto her.

“Excuse me, I’m really sorry to disturb you, but we’ve got some leaving presents for Miss Honey,” Sybil muttered, her body visibly tensed up in fear of reprisal for interrupting the teachers at their lunch.

“Oh how marvellous!” Pippa exclaimed before Jennifer could open her mouth to thank Sybil and the other girls—moving Jennifer’s plate for her to make space on the table, and then assembling a tower of gifts in front of her.

Hecate stiffened. She had not considered giving Jennifer something as thoughtful as a card or a present to wish her well. She could think of nothing that would adequately begin to express the gratitude for all that Jennifer had done for her, without appearing overly sentimental or making her feelings too obvious.

Jennifer first opened the enormous card—bigger than her head—covered in maglet pictures of Miss Honey in her classes, and her eyes, visible over the top of the open card, swam with emotion as she absorbed all of the signatures and messages that her students had written for her.

Hecate watched out of the corner of her eye while spearing peas on her fork as Jennifer unwrapped the gifts—a mug decorated in Cackle’s black and grey stripes, with “Miss Honey” written underneath the school crest, several drawings of Cackle’s Academy, of Miss Honey teaching, and of Miss Honey on a broomstick. There was also, to a chorus of “awww”, a tiny crocheted hat which Sybil said was “for Vinegar to wear to make her feel more witchy”.

“Thank you so much, girls,” Miss Honey stammered through her tears, which she dabbed at with a pastel pink handkerchief Pippa put into her hands.

Hecate had given Jennifer the black silk ribbon—but it was a second-hand gift—a scrap of fabric barely worth considering. It was not creative, or thoughtful, or really much of a present at all. Hecate had first given it to her when she had rudely demanded that Jennifer tie her hair back during her potions lesson, for goodness’ sake.

Gwendolyn and Algernon appeared to now be in some kind of a petty tiff—“What is it I’m meant to have done?” asked Algernon morosely of a grumpy Gwendolyn, her arms crossed crossly and lips pursed—and it exhausted Hecate to listen to them over the deafening guilt of her own inadequacy and Pippa tittering over how precious were all the gifts. 

Realising she would not be missed, Hecate twisted her wrist in towards herself. A transference spell shimmered around her from the tips of her black nails, and dematerialised her body until the brightness of the Great Hall faded entirely from view.

* * *

Hecate let the comforting walls of her private office surround her as her body found the form of the hard wooden chair behind her green leather-topped bureau. 

She slid a stack of marking towards herself and prepared to make a start on something productive. If the rest of the day had to be wasted play-acting as student and teacher or moving desks about a room or conveying through potions the concept of “community”, she would at least accomplish one useful task.

Evidently she had been missed—and rather quickly, too—for a sharp knocking at her door told her that whomever it was knew that she was within, and had a suspicion of why she was there as well.

With a twitch of her finger, the door swung open—unleashing the pink hurricane of Pippa Pentangle, whose face was miraculously calm even though her motions were not. The potion bottles on the shelves rattled with the force of her magic causing waves in the air around her.

“Hecate, a word?” 

Pippa’s voice was dangerously polite, and Hecate knew—as she wiped the jewel of red ink from her quill nib and placed it down carefully—that Pippa was here for more than simply an idle chat. Hecate closed the door quietly with another gesture from her hand.

“When were you going to tell me, exactly?”

Hecate cast her eyes downward.

“You weren’t going to tell me. You wouldn’t have ever told me. I had to find out from the _Council_ , Hecate. Can you even imagine how that feels? After all that time we spent together—” A look of horror crossed Pippa’s face. “That was _why_ we broke up, wasn’t it? You were too afraid to tell me. You didn’t trust that I could handle the truth—that you made one silly mistake and got punished for it. Well, far be it from me to think the high and mighty Hecate Hardbroom could ever have a single flaw in the fortress she builds around herself to keep everyone out.”

Hecate could feel decades of resentment behind Pippa’s words. She felt like Pippa was stripping her naked—exposing her every shame—and yet she still had no idea of the truth—

“You didn’t fight back. You just let it happen. And you didn’t even _tell_ me. I could have helped you, Hecate. We could have got through it together. But you’re too stubborn to accept that people care about you, and want you to be happy—”

“I think you have said quite enough,” Hecate whispered. “But for what it is worth, I am s—”

“—Don’t tell me you’re _sorry_ , Hecate. Did you think one word could make the years fall away? Did you think everything would just return to how it used to be? Did you think I would wait for you?”

Pippa’s words were like knives of ice in her body. Of all the ways that Hecate imagined one day telling Pippa about everything, this was not how she had wanted the conversation to transpire.

“I— I do not want that—”

She had no idea how to put into words. When she had told Jennifer, it had been so much simpler, somehow. Perhaps it was because Hecate knew she was being received by a listening ear, and not by someone holding her up against decades of hostility. This would have been so much simpler if she had only sent that letter—the one in her room locked away in her box of keepsakes from Pippa—from her seventeen-year-old self when she was still raw with guilt, shame, and trauma, attempting to offer some form of explanation as to why she had never turned up to their broomstick waterskiing doubles display, why she had fled from the Leavers’ Ball a crying mess once she had seen Pippa, why after each summer spent at Cackle’s she was a little more broken. 

Pippa’s voice fell to a low murmur. “I spent my years waiting, and— Hecate, it was too much for me. You never gave me any kind of explanation. I spent all that time believing that I had wronged you, until that became bitterness and resentment.”

Hecate felt the chill of Pippa’s words upon her. The heartbreak had been an easy compromise over confessing the truth, but she had not realised the extent to which her actions would have affected Pippa. There was nothing to lose, now—she must do what she could never have done as a teenager.

“Perhaps it is time that I— that I gave you this.” Hecate swirled her fingers over her open hand, and an aged envelope materialised in her hand. She handed it, her wrist quaking, to Pippa.

Hecate watched, anxiety binding around her chest like a web. Pippa opened the letter, and as her eyes ran over the lines—words that Hecate had tried to re-write countless times over the years, only to tear up and send into vanishment. Hecate knew the exact moment Pippa happened upon the section about Mistress Broomhead, for her expression altered from one of curiosity to remorse to devastation; she fell down onto the chair opposite Hecate for support. She came to the last leaf of the letter, to the words Hecate knew perhaps were written in a little more of the romantic teenage mind than she would have expressed now, until finally Pippa put the letter down onto the desk. Tears dropped onto the page of black ink shapes, straight and cramped—Hecate’s juvenile hand from twenty-six years ago—and met Hecate’s eyes.

“Hiccup,” Pippa uttered, her eyes glistening with tears. “If only I had known—” She stood, leaving the letter on the desk, and circled around to the other side where Hecate sat hesitantly. Pippa’s hand reached out towards to Hecate’s face—Hecate winced and closed her eyes, expecting a slap—but the sensation of trembling, cool fingers played across her cheek. It felt like a precursor to something more—to which Hecate felt her heart close.

“Please do not— do not touch me,” Hecate said painfully, closing her fingers over Pippa’s hand and lowering it. “Pippa— I think we should try to leave the past behind us. For the sake of both our hearts.”

“You’re right,” Pippa said, retracting her hand and clenching it into a fist by her side. “I’ve— I’ve moved on now. I’m sorry— finding out all this recently, and then the letter— just— brought it up again.”

Hecate shook her head. “It’s all right, Pippa. I think if we ever— I would not be able to forgive myself for putting you through the years of silence. Remembering that would only remind me of what— of what Mistress Broomhead made me do to you.”

“I think I understand now. Yet I cannot— how could she have been allowed to do that to you?” She paced back around to the other side of the desk. “Why didn’t Ada _do_ something?”

“Ada is not to blame,” Hecate interjected quickly. “Her mother kept many things from her when she inherited Cackle’s and this was— one of those secrets.”

Pippa exhaled deeply, quite the opposite of the furious force that had stormed into her office earlier. “We should talk more about this another time. But for now—I should probably start preparing for the afternoon.”

“Indeed,” Hecate agreed, feeling strangely at a loss. “Good luck.”

Pippa gave a weak smile, concern still marking her brow, and left Hecate to her racing thoughts.

* * *

The afternoon workshop started with a recap of the morning, and practicing a few more roleplay scenarios to get them into the mood. Hecate wished that they did not have to move around; her lunch was churning in her stomach fitfully after the anxiety following her stressful altercation with Pippa. Ada could tell by her colour that she was feeling off in some way, so suggested that she sat down for a little while she did the harder job of playing the teacher.

“Jenny, might I borrow you for a moment?” Ada asked, as she and Pippa approached their corner of the room.

“I wondered if you could show me that body language whatsit again,” Ada said, standing over Hecate, whose eyes widened with horror at what she suspected Ada was planning. “Pippa, I think Algernon desperately needs some help before his new wife decides she wants a divorce.”

Pippa smiled sweetly and went over to diffuse the situation that Gwendolyn had become a little too involved in, leaving Jennifer uneasily raising her eyebrows at Ada.

Hecate, seated, felt at the mercy of the two of them hanging over her. While Jennifer demonstrated posture, Hecate attempted to steady her breathing to be at a normal tempo, and not be distracted at how Jennifer’s narrow shoulders looked in her oversized cardigan as she drew them back, and the delicate skin of her throat.

“Honestly, Miss Cackle, I think you know this far better than I,” Jennifer shook her head.

“Show me with Hecate,” Ada insisted, “how should I try to elicit the student’s attention when she is closing off?”

Jennifer stepped closer to Hecate’s other side, her hip tantalisingly near. Hecate cursed Ada her shrewdness—Hecate had indeed been withdrawing steadily over the course of the entire day, if not the week—and this was an ill-veiled attempt to try to turn Hecate down a course of action that she had no intention of following.

“It’s about comfort and emotional connection. You can’t have one without the other,” Jennifer began. “You have to remove all barriers between yourself and the student—which means arms open, and preferably no desks between you and her. I like to approach from the side, as it’s a much less intimidating position—rather than the front, where it looks like you’re talking down, or from behind, where it gives off the impression of surveillance.”

Jennifer lowered herself just below Hecate’s eye height, to her side, where the chair was open to her. There was nothing between them but air and—Hecate despaired to admit it—temptation.

“What next?” Ada continued the farce, encouraging her to go further.

“I find a hand either on the desk or on the back of the chair can be comforting,” Jennifer replied, without the barest hint of anything other than professionalism, “depending on how sensitive the student is to physical closeness. You don’t want to overstep any boundaries and lose the trust and rapport that you’re trying to foster.”

Hecate felt the slightest sensation of Jennifer’s hand making contact with the upper back of the wooden chair, but then—in such a way that was invisible to the rest of the room—gently brushed her thumb against Hecate’s shoulder blade, just where the chair ended.

Their eyes locked, and finally Hecate could see the warmth that she had thought she had seen reserved for Pippa—yet it seemed more poignant now, somehow, when it was she upon which Jennifer was turning it. There was an unspoken phrase that she sensed rather than saw, waiting to radiate out from the centre of her pupils—from the tongue that darted out to moisten her lips.

“And then you tell her that it’s all right to want to protect yourself by closing off—but that there is much to be gained from allowing someone in—that being vulnerable is to be strong enough to feel emotion fully—to love, without holding half of yourself back.”

Jennifer was no longer speaking to Ada. Ada, was, in fact not even in Hecate’s peripheral vision. All Hecate knew was that Jennifer’s words felt as though they broke a dam within herself, and that in the moment that Jennifer rose and turned her eyes away from her, Hecate’s heart yearned to reach out to her and never let her go.

* * *

The rest of the workshop passed in a blur. How could she even have hoped to recover from such an encounter? She longed to lie down in the darkness of her chambers and recount every single one of Jennifer’s words, until she knew them by heart and had calculated all the possible ways in which Jennifer had not meant them to be directly for her.

With Pippa no longer sniping passive-aggressive comments from across the room at her, the awkwardness was much lessened. Hecate stole little glimpses of Jennifer, hardly daring to meet her eyes again lest everything should fall away and unveil that moment as just a misunderstanding. Her notes suffered incredibly—her quill hovered over the paper as her thoughts struggled to keep up with what Pippa and Jennifer were saying.

As soon as the closing statements were made, and gratitudes expressed between all parties were said, and Gwendolyn shaken awake from a deep sleep—Hecate fled the room as naturally as she could manage. She needed to be alone—to think over and overthink everything—to try to resolve her feelings on the advent of Jennifer’s departure.

Hecate had barely made her way towards the teachers’ wing, at a corridor with a stained-glass window facing the low sun, when she realised she was being followed.

“Miss Hardbroom,” Jennifer called down the hall, her voice thin with trepidation.

Hecate stopped, without turning—leaning her hand against the stone surround of the stained-glass window. The footsteps caught up with her, and she felt Jennifer’s hand on her arm.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t— I don’t know.”

Jennifer looked earnestly into her eyes. “You know that— I meant what I said back there—about opening up.”

Hecate turned away. The glass on the window pane needed cleaning—the colours were almost drained away with the film of grey covering them.

“I cannot say what I want to say. It would not be prudent, what with your—situation with Miss Pentangle,” she responded, her voice fading to the barest of whispers. Her hand withdrew from the window and tightened into a fist at her side.

“Then let me say it,” Jennifer said, and gently, she slipped her hands around Hecate’s wrists and with persuasive caresses from her fingertips, eased the fists into unfurling the long, delicate fingers that she squeezed some warmth into with her palms. “Hecate, I can’t help how I feel about you. The way you’ve grown— the way you look at me—”

Hecate gazed at Jennifer in disbelief, as the low angle of the sun caught the golden rim of her glasses. She had longed to hear that in some way, her feelings were reciprocated. Her voice was hollow and cracked as she responded, “but I am—old, unattractive, cold-hearted—”

“None of these things could be further from the truth. Hecate— you are the most beautiful person I have ever met, from your powers and abilities—” her thumb stroked over Hecate’s fingers “—to your gorgeous face—” she lifted Hecate’s hand and held it against Hecate’s cheek “—to your precious heart—” and finally, lowered both their hands to rest over the chain that hung from Hecate’s neck, where said heart was beating so rapidly that it was practically vibrating. 

Hecate looked down at the floor, half-ashamed—only to find Jennifer’s finger lifting her chin back up. Hecate stared back at her, utterly startled at the boldness of her contact.

“I—” Jennifer suddenly blushed violently, taking her hand away from Hecate’s face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me—”

Hecate caught her hand softly as she drew it back. “Jennifer, please—”

Jennifer’s face crumpled. “I’m really sorry, I—”

Hecate saw a panicked light in Jennifer’s eyes that seemed like she wanted to dash away like a hunted animal. “Jennifer—please do not apologise. That would mean that you did not mean all the things you said, and that— that would break my heart.”

A heartbeat passed between them—Hecate became enraptured by the different coloured lights playing across Jennifer’s white cardigan, suddenly seeing how vibrant the colour truly was. Jennifer unlinked her hand from Hecate’s, and just when Hecate was about to lament that she had in fact succeeded in spurning Jennifer’s advances—Jennifer’s hand slipped across her cheek—behind her ear—over the hair pinned tightly at her nape. The dark eyes behind the glasses flicked down to her lips—before Hecate utterly lost herself in Jennifer as the other hand found Hecate’s waist and rosebud lips sought hers urgently. All decorum shed—all her armour gone—Hecate gave into the kiss and tasted her own surrender in the sweetness of Miss Honey’s lips.

As they parted, Hecate felt a weakness in her knees—a sudden turning of the corridor—pleasure mingling with abject fear—the only thing steadying her physically and mentally were Jennifer’s arms around her.

“I have not— kissed anyone since I was a teenager,” Hecate confessed breathlessly as tears began to form in her eyes. “I am sorry if I— fell short of your expectations.”

“Oh Hecate— you could never— you don’t know how much I have wanted to kiss you— how many times I almost did—”

“—But Jennifer—” Hecate interrupted her, “are you not leaving _today_?”

Jennifer stroked away the tear that had broken free from Hecate’s eyelashes and rolled down her cheek. “Hecate— I think I have to tell Miss Pentangle that I— that I can’t accept her offer.”

Hecate blinked in confusion, her mind too addled and divided between the sensation of her still-tingling lips and Jennifer Honey’s hand on her face and the conversation that seemed to be making less and less sense. “Why would you do that? Miss Pentangle has supported your career! Your career is too important— you cannot cast away such an opportunity—”

“Because,” Jennifer gazed at her endearingly. “Miss Cackle has made me a counter-offer. She says there’s an opening here, if I want it.” Jennifer smiled shyly. “And— another reason why is— that you’re here. And you happen to be quite kissable, it turns out.”

A few moments later, Hecate let herself be pushed against the stone wall, proving Jennifer’s last point to her again as they expunged every last doubt from each other’s minds.

Hecate made a mental note to give Ada a very generous gift.

* * *

As they walked down the corridor towards Ada’s office—propriety and awareness of where they were having finally broke them apart—with Jennifer’s hand in her own, Hecate could not help the smile curving her lips that were still warm with Jennifer’s kiss—and the relief in the tears of joy that brimmed her eyes.

“Perhaps for the sake of any passing students, we should refrain from—”

Jennifer released Hecate’s hand to her. “You’re right. I don’t think I want anyone to find out just yet. But oh— your lipstick—”

Hecate paused, summoning a hand mirror, and inspected where her lipstick had smudged. She showed Jennifer her own reflection as well, something like a forbidden pride swelling in her chest, where Hecate’s lipstick had made tell-tale marks across her face—by her ear—on her neck—

“Whoops,” Jennifer muttered bashfully.

Hecate undulated her fingers across Jennifer’s face and the lipstick traces evaporated—Jennifer shivered as she felt the spark of Hecate’s magic on her skin—before Hecate set about correcting her own appearance.

“Magic certainly has its advantages,” Jennifer commented as they lingered at the threshold of the Headmistress’s office.

“It can do,” Hecate responded with a playful smirk.

“Perhaps I’d better go on ahead,” Jennifer said, even though the look in her eye was less than eager. “There’s a conversation I ought to have with Miss Pentangle.”

Hecate held her back for a moment. “Tell me— was there anything— going on between you and she?”

A complicated expression crossed Jennifer’s face that Hecate could not read. “No. But I think she wanted there to be. I’m relieved she kept things— mostly professional, honestly.”

Hecate nodded, dizzy with liberation and the rush of all that had transpired—and let Jennifer go ahead of her, following after a few breathless, precious minutes, reliving every moment in her head.

* * *

The Cackle’s staff assembled in the courtyard to see Pippa Pentangle off. It was already almost dark at half past four in the afternoon. Dimity presented her with her beautiful broomstick, and Pippa began to make her goodbyes, starting with Jennifer. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Pippa’s hug seemed far more chaste than it had done that morning.

“Treat her well, Hecate,” Pippa said quietly in Hecate’s ear as they embraced. “You deserve happiness— you both do.”

It was very peculiar to be on such friendly terms with Pippa. Their intense conversation earlier that day was still echoing in Hecate’s mind, and as they parted, Pippa smiled at her.

“Thank you, Hecate—I hope we can start putting the past behind us—for good, this time. You really are an amazing witch, and a great teacher, and I’m sorry that I—”

Hecate cut her off. “I regret holding the truth from you for so long. Perhaps now we can both mend, and hopefully collaborate more in the future.”

“Do come and visit Pentangle’s— now that you can. I’m so sorry again for all those snippy messages I sent you about not coming to visit—”

“All forgiven,” Hecate said warmly. 

Once Pippa had said all her farewells, she took off into the cool evening air, and flew over the castle walls until her pink form vanished against the coral-flushed clouds in the darkening sky.

As the rest of the staff filtered indoors—Gwendolyn and Algernon now arm in arm, mercifully reconciled—Hecate turned to Ada, and stiffly asked, “did you really offer Miss Honey a place at Cackle’s?”

Ada grinned mischievously. “I most certainly did. After I saw the way you two looked at each other—there was absolutely no question about the matter. And I was hardly going to let Pippa Pentangle steal away one of the loveliest teachers I’ve ever met. That, and the girls are evidently very fond of her.”

Hecate bowed her head, unable to disguise her joy. “Thank you, Ada.”

“Now, I hope this _will_ affect your work. You show up the rest of us far too often.”

Hecate allowed a smile to break across her face. “Yes, Headmistress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KISS
> 
> ahem.
> 
> i had hoped to get this one out before season 4 began, but i think it might come at a good time. perhaps. sorry it took a little longer, but it was a complicated chapter with lots of movement and PIPPA. and it's long!
> 
> this isn't the last chapter! there's one more to go, just for the gays
> 
> (ps: potato)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate invites Jennifer to spend the day with her.

Once she had sent off some important correspondence late that evening, Hecate hoped she would be able to relax into a restful sleep—but instead spent a fitful night barely sleeping, imagining Jennifer asleep in her bed just down the corridor. Now that they had kissed, she had unlocked an entirely new chapter of feeling that she had thought she had closed the book on forever—and now that it was open again to her, it was overwhelming.

Jennifer Honey _liked_ her. She felt ridiculous even thinking about it in those terms. She was a grown witch, not an immature lovesick teenager. But still the thought persisted—still she could feel the impression of Jennifer’s lips upon hers—

Hecate turned over in her bed, far too aware of each breath rising and falling and rising again in her chest. This was silly. She was usually able to fall asleep with relative ease after each exhausting day, but tonight her mind was alert and flashing like lightning between the moments of the previous day—Jennifer’s eyes meeting hers, knowing the way that she felt—Jennifer’s hands touching hers, where her magic brimmed at even the slightest sensation—Jennifer’s lips, that she had dared to kiss with her own—

When she finally did get to sleep, it seemed like seconds before Morgana decided it was time to walk over her face, and there ended her night’s sleep, at barely four in the morning.

Hecate sighed, ignoring the throbbing in her head that told her she had not had enough sleep. Her feet automatically found her slippers by her bedside where she had left them last night, and she dragged herself to her personal potions cabinet, one hand pinched to the bridge of her nose, and the other feeling around in the dark for the correctly shaped phial. She uncorked it, and let the rich gingery syrup flow down her throat, immediately beginning to feel herself perk up. Hecate had tailored her own blend of Wide-Awake potion over the decades to combat the headaches and nausea that she often felt in conjunction with the exhaustion from a bad night’s sleep—and she always had a supply on hand, for she rarely seemed to have time for whatever mythological concept was a full night’s sleep.

Hecate cast her daily shower spell over the bath and stepped in. As she stood in the flow of water and increased the temperature to an indulgent warmth, the effect of the potion and the hot water flowing down through her hair soothed the pounding in her head. She watched the water descending in rivulets from each tendril of hair hanging down idly, allowing herself a rare moment to breathe, only owing to it being four o’clock on a Sunday morning.

After drying herself with a wave of her hand, and agonising over what she would wear—settling upon a blouse with some fiddly buttons that her nerves made it challenging to fasten, and a skirt of black brocade—she cast her makeup spell, paying closer attention to the wings of her eyeliner and the cupid’s bow of her lipstick, and surveyed her hair. She wanted to do something different with it from yesterday, but could not decide what would be best. Perhaps it could wait a while. She tossed the curls over her shoulder as she considered how she could best spend the time ahead of her.

Last night after dinner, Hecate had had her patrol duty and decided it would be neither sensible nor productive to ask Jennifer to join her—much as she was unable to think of anything but spending every moment drinking in Jennifer’s presence now that she had tasted how sweet were the kisses from those lips that had imparted such compassion towards her. She hardly wanted to arouse the suspicions of the girls and did not think at the moment it would be wholly possible to walk alongside Jennifer Honey without being partially, if not fully distracted by the sensation of craving being drawn into her warmth. 

Hecate knew Ada had instructed her to let this—could Hecate dare to call it romance yet?—distract her from work, but she was not sure if Ada realised the extent to which her mind was distracted, quite how much of her time she was willing to give over to the study of every aspect of Jennifer Honey’s life and person. 

Moreover, providing that Jennifer Honey were to acquiesce, Hecate hoped that they could take advantage of every second they could take alone today—and did not want for a second of their Sunday to be wasted on any avoidable duties—to which end, she decided that she could suggest that they start early.

Hecate sat at her bureau and took up her black hawk feather quill, rolling it between her fingers as she thought of the least presumptive way to invite Jennifer Honey to her chambers in the morning for breakfast.

She automatically reached for her usual ink bottle—that which she used for marking—but hesitated over the colour. Was draconic red too aggressive? In official correspondence, bat black was essential, yet black today seemed too grave. The least imposing colour she had was spider’s silk silver. But its pale shining thread-like ink looked best on darker colours of paper—which was why she did not use it often. She did have some black invitation cards, but black was surely too severe for a morning appointment.

Hecate wondered if she had time to mix a quick Colour-Changing potion to get the perfect colour of paper she was envisioning. Did that seem a little excessive? She put down her quill.

Moments later, she found herself in the potions laboratory, hovering potions ingredients jars towards herself with a strange, slightly wild energy inspiring her magic. She put her hair into a quick low bun to keep it out of the way—it would hardly do if she were to accidentally change the colour of her hair instead. She could brew a Colour-Changing potion in her sleep—but the exact colour that she wanted would require some degree of precision, and her electrified mind was far from ideal for such careful measurement. She was humming with either the energy of the Wide-Awake potion or the prospect that Jennifer would perhaps bestow another of her kisses unto her, and mused on those lips while she put the final ingredient into her cauldron.

Hecate’s concern that her exuberance would cause some foolish mistake was unnecessary; her mission proved to be a success as she tested her potion on a spare piece of paper. She cleaned everything up with a single sweep of her arm, and secured the stopper in the small phial.

Hecate transferred back to her chambers, thrill mounting inside her from her impulsive success. Carefully, she applied a few drops of the potion to three invitation cards—lest she make an error in writing—and the colour spread out from the centre of each, turning it from ivory to dark rose red.

Hecate dipped the quill into the spider’s silk ink and forced her hand to relax as she prepared to write. In her best script, she let _Jennifer Honey_ flow out from her pen in the centre of the card. After anxiously cycling over and over the phrasing in her head, she began to draw out the words.

_If you are amenable, you are very welcome to take breakfast in my chambers this morning._

_Yours,  
Hecate_

Hecate set her quill down, admiring the sheen of the ink against the deep red of the paper. It looked elegant—if she could call her own handiwork elegant—and perhaps slightly over-the-top for a morning invitation, but Hecate could hardly help it—her mind was still spiralling with how desperately romantic the past few days had been, from Jennifer playing with her hair, to Jennifer’s barely veiled words to her in the workshop, and then finally Jennifer’s confession of her feelings and—that unforgettable kiss. It was high time that Hecate returned the favour.

If Hecate were to invite Jennifer to breakfast, it would be helpful if she had some food to offer her. The greasy fried breakfast Miss Tapioca served on Sundays was hardly Hecate’s idea of a romantic start to the day. She transferred herself to the kitchens, rolled up her sleeves, and looked about herself for inspiration.

What could Hecate make that Jennifer would enjoy for breakfast? She began to instinctively start a bread dough while she considered—partly as a way to order her thoughts, but she also had a secret hope in the back of her mind that Jennifer might possibly have the entire day to spend with her, and it would be perhaps more impressive to be able to offer her some of her own homemade bread instead of Miss Tapioca’s bread, which was more often than not exceedingly dense and tasteless in the mouth. 

As she was kneading, one of her sleeves began to slip down her arm again towards the sticky dough, but it was quickly corrected with a twirl of her finger. The idea began to form in her mind while she became absorbed in the task of stretching the dough. Hecate had noticed that Jennifer had rather a sweet tooth, and while she herself was accustomed to exercise some restraint when it came to sweet things in the morning—or indeed, at most times of day—she thought perhaps it would be fitting to make her some sort of pastry or fruit tart. The Wide-Awake potion was certainly doing its job; it was not even half past five in the morning and she had already dressed, mixed a potion, made an invitation, and had bread dough rising. She was certain she had enough time for one more thing.

It was a cool January, so something warming but not too heavy was in order. Hecate settled upon a simple spiced pear and apple tart. She made up a quick shortcrust pastry and set it to rest while she peeled and sliced the apples and pears together. The smell of the fruit was delicious as she cut into its flesh; she tossed it in a mixture of spices and lemon juice to add freshness and prevent discolouration. Hecate dimly wondered when Miss Tapioca would descend to start clattering about the kitchen, but as it was usually served a little later on a Sunday, she was not overly concerned about being interrupted.

After finding a baking tin for the tart and forming the pastry base carefully, Hecate blind baked it. Once the base was crisp enough, she filled it artistically with overlapping slices of pear and apple, finally sprinkling it all over with sugar to caramelise and slid it into the hot oven.

As the smell of sugared fruit began to fill the kitchen, Hecate punched down her bread dough, and reformed it into a boule for its second rise before baking. She waited with anticipation for everything to reach the appropriate time to either go in or come out of the oven, summoning a book from her chambers that she convinced herself she was reading while she paced back and forth across the tiled floor.

When all was finished, Hecate transferred herself, the cooling tart, and the crusty loaf, which had bloomed golden brown in the oven, back up to her chambers, placing the tart and loaf carefully on her dining table. She set out her best silverware, and some floral-decorated china that she had inherited from a great-aunt, with its matching tea service. It made for quite a satisfying arrangement. The sun was not due to rise until almost ten to eight, so she replaced the candle in the candlestick she usually kept on the table with a fresh one with a soft, light scent. Everything looked perfect—or it did, once she adjusted the errant angle of a knife.

The invitation was still resting on her writing bureau where she had left it, still as yet unsent. Her heart stuttered as she made to transfer it into Jennifer’s room—what if she refused—what if she was unable to attend—what if she did not _want_ to attend—but there was nothing to be gained from suppositions, as she had learnt rather recently. She furled her fingers outwards and it vanished into red mist as she sent it to rest upon Jennifer Honey’s pillow.

Anxiety crept in around her. The note was sent now, and there was nothing more to be done to improve upon it.

Hecate picked up the book she had tried to read in the kitchen, and avidly attempted to appear as though she were deep in thought reading it, when in reality her mind was barely alighting on the words again. What was even the title of this book? It scarcely mattered—she kept thinking over her morning, wondering what it was that she had forgotten to do—or more things that she could manage to do—when Morgana padded over and gave a hungry meow, swishing her tail as her wide eyes fixed on Hecate. Hecate jumped up at once to fill her dish, scolding herself for neglecting her familiar.

* * *

A gentle knock came at the door—too anxious to walk, Hecate transferred directly and opened it, to see surprise on Jennifer’s face. She must have been nearly or already awake when Hecate sent over the invitation, for it had not taken her long to appear at her door, in the same way that it had not taken Hecate long to open it.

“Did you receive my note?” Hecate asked, hope in her voice.

“I did.”

Hecate felt Jennifer’s pause drop down in her stomach. “I understand if you do not think it a good idea, on reflection,” Hecate said, tearing her eyes away from Jennifer’s and trying not to let the disappointment too obvious in her expression.

Jennifer frowned. “Hecate, what are you talking about? I’m here, and I’d love nothing more than to have breakfast with you.”

Hecate stepped aside to let Jennifer into her chambers, but was stopped in her tracks with an earnest kiss that almost toppled her. Even though her body immediately felt intoxicated by Jennifer’s honeyed amber musk perfume, Hecate held onto her self-possession long enough to vaguely wave her arm behind her to shut the door on the empty corridor with her magic before they were completely exposed to the rest of the teacher’s tower.

“I missed you last night,” Jennifer said shyly as she broke away, resting her hands in Hecate’s.

Hecate squeezed Jennifer’s hands. “I regret that I put myself on duty. I had anticipated that the day would go quite differently—and that I would need to distract myself.”

“You thought that I would be leaving, didn’t you?” As she came into the candlelight, Hecate could see that she was wearing her pencil skirt, ending a few inches below the knee, and a boat-neck blouse Hecate had not seen her wear before that showed her beautiful shoulders and the utterly poetic shape of her collar bone.

“I did. I prepared for the worst,” Hecate responded gravely. “I considered asking you to join me on patrol, but I did not think it wise so soon after we—”

“Of course—” Jennifer finished for her. “I would have wanted to constantly distract you, which would be quite unfair on you.”

Hecate nodded in understanding, glad that they had both come to the same conclusion. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not especially—” Jennifer said with a little smile. “My thoughts were a little preoccupied with a certain witch.”

Hecate brimmed with warmth, but fear of being presumptuous meant that had to ask the question regardless. “Which witch?”

Jennifer stood up on tiptoe and pecked her cheek. “Does that answer your question?”

Hecate burned at Jennifer’s touch, and in a far more daring voice than she felt, returned, “I am not entirely sure. Perhaps you can provide further enlightenment?”

Jennifer cupped Hecate’s face and drew her into a deeper kiss. Hecate’s mind reeled so intensely with the emotions coursing through her that she broke off the kiss a little prematurely.

“Have I convinced you?” Jennifer asked with a smile.

“You most certainly have,” Hecate said, as Jennifer smoothed her hand over Hecate’s hair.

“I love what you’ve done with your hair this morning.”

Hecate gasped. She knew she had forgotten something—her hair was still curly, in the low bun that she had done to keep her hair from her potions and culinary preparations. “I— I confess this was unintentional. I could not decide upon a style—and then found myself in the potions laboratory and needed to put it up for practical reasons.”

“It looks so relaxed—it’s gorgeous,” Jennifer glowed.

Hecate went the colour of her Colour-Changing potion.

“Oh— but what’s this?” Jennifer looked over Hecate’s shoulder at the dining table laid out.

“I made a spiced apple and pear tart, as a rather indulgent breakfast,” Hecate said, unsure of how Jennifer would receive this. “We do not have to have it. It was merely an idea.”

“Did you make this with magic? The fruit is so perfectly arranged.”

Hecate continued to blush harder. “I did not.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened. “You can bake?”

“I can perform adequately in a kitchen,” Hecate admitted. “I had to feed myself during my confinement in the summer and winter holidays, so I learnt to cook and bake.”

Jennifer’s enthusiasm waned slightly at the mention of Hecate’s past, and she put her hand on Hecate’s arm to comfort her. “I’m so sorry you had to learn that way. Do you enjoy spending time in the kitchen?”

“It allowed me some degree of control over my circumstances, so it has always been a pleasure for me.” Hecate poured boiling water from a kettle she drew out of thin air into the tea pot.

They continued discussing their favourite things about baking—Hecate was delighted to learn that Jennifer also liked to bake, particularly cookies with her daughter Matilda, who shared her sweet tooth. She cut Jennifer a slice of the tart and levitated it over to her, to her absolute delight.

Jennifer held up her shining cake fork, and Hecate watched her on the other side of the flickering candle flame. “Your cake forks are so elegant. I love that there’s a fork specifically for the purpose of eating dessert.”

“I confess that I do not often have much opportunity to use them,” Hecate replied, slightly breathless as she watched Jennifer convey a fork of the tart to her mouth—and as Jennifer’s eyes closed in what Hecate hoped was bliss. “I do not often make sweet foods, since during the holidays it is primarily for myself that I bake—and most desserts are made to be shared.”

“Well, this is the most delicious breakfast I’ve ever had the pleasure of eating.” Jennifer smiled in such a way that made Hecate glad she was already sitting down, for her knees would not have been able to support her weight.

They finished their breakfast—and there was much tart left to be had, so Hecate covered it and transferred it to the kitchen cool box with a firmly-written note that it was not for communal consumption—and drained the tea pot down to its last dregs.

While Hecate magicked their plates and cake forks clean, Jennifer put a hand on Hecate’s back. “May I— style your hair into something a little more elegant? Not that I don’t love it right now, but I thought you might like to look a little more put together.”

“Only if you would like to,” Hecate responded. “It was my foolish forgetfulness that caused me to neglect my appearance, so I should be the one to—”

“—Hecate.” Jennifer shook her head, sighing. “Don’t you understand that I’m offering because I _want_ to, not because of any other reason.”

Hecate shrank a little.

Jennifer raised her eyebrows at Hecate’s reservation. “Unless, of course— unless you don’t like me playing with your hair?”

“No,” Hecate said in a small voice. “Quite the opposite.”

Jennifer bit her lip in a slightly guilty smile. “I’m not saying I could tell for certain, but—”

Hecate looked at the floor as if admonished—but Jennifer took her hand and led her to her own bedroom. Hecate was surprised at her boldness—Jennifer’s normally quite deferential manner was giving way to an eagerness that was soft, yet insistent in a way that stirred Hecate’s heart.

Before Hecate could make as if to sit at the dressing table, she found herself enclosed in Jennifer’s embrace as she kissed her. She could taste the sweetness of the honeyed tea Jennifer had been drinking on her lips. Hecate relaxed into her arms, and felt nimble fingers pulling out the hairband doubled over the thick bundle of curls at her nape while she sank into Jennifer’s lips, feeling her long hair tumbling heavily down her back. Hecate felt Jennifer steering her towards the bed, where she collapsed as her knees hit the edge of the bed, and the pressure on her chest as Jennifer leaned her weight upon her, easing her into a reclining position as her hips made contact with Hecate’s, and she could feel Jennifer’s breasts brushing against her own—

Unexpectedly, Hecate felt anxiety constrict in her chest as Jennifer’s kissing became more fervent. She was unsure of the protocol for saying that she was scared—that she was starting to become uncomfortable about where it looked like this was going.

“Jennifer,” Hecate said breathlessly as Jennifer’s body felt overwhelmingly close upon her own.

“Yes,” Jennifer said headily, continuing a hot trail of kisses down her throat that Hecate was barely able to resist.

“We should possibly—”

Jennifer pushed herself up from Hecate’s chest, freeing her lungs so she could breathe—the longing in Jennifer’s eyes turned to concern as she understood Hecate’s tone. “Hecate— was that too much?”

“Sorry— I am sorry— Could we perhaps—?”

“Yes— of course,” Jennifer said, straightening her glasses on her nose, and taking both of Hecate’s hands in her own, gently helped her to her feet.

Hecate stood, feeling numbed and as though she were detaching slightly from her surroundings.

“May I hug you?”

Hecate nodded wordlessly, and a warmth folded around her as Jennifer’s arms drew her into a comforting embrace. She had not even realised her shoulders were so stiff until she felt her muscles untense as the panic gripping her began to pass. Jennifer held her for as long as she needed, and her heart slowed as it beat against Jennifer’s form.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to push you into anything that you didn’t want. I should have checked with you first.”

“No, I am sorry. I feel as though I have ruined everything,” Hecate whispered, feeling tears spring up.

“Hecate—” Jennifer retracted from the hug to make eye contact with her. Although Hecate was reluctant, she felt drawn into those dark eyes. “Hecate, you don’t have to apologise for not being emotionally ready for something. That’s for us to figure out—the two of us—if that’s something that you want.”

“I do want that.” Hecate smiled through her tears. “I was— scared that you would reject me.”

“I understand more than many the need for boundaries. Please, please don’t be afraid to tell me because you think I will react badly. Because I can promise you right now that I won’t. I only want you the way that you want me to want you—if that makes sense.”

The impassioned look on the lovely face before her was enough to convince Hecate that she was safe—that she could trust Jennifer.

“I will try,” Hecate uttered. “It has been such a long time since I— since I have been intimate with someone in any sense of the word.”

Jennifer smiled wistfully. “I can sense that. Your heart is so precious, Hecate—I don’t wish to overwhelm you in any way. We’ll take things at your pace. Just let me know if anything’s too much or too fast for you.”

“Thank you,” Hecate responded, as Jennifer brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Now, shall we do something about your hair? That is— as long as you still want to.”

Hecate nodded. “I think that will help.”

Jennifer helped her sit down on the chair by the dressing table, and Hecate leant back into Jennifer’s hands as she lifted her hair free of the chair back, smelling once more the amber musk wafting over her. The relative familiarity of the situation was of great comfort, and she found her breathing return to as normal a rate as she could possibly manage, what with Jennifer being so close.

“Your ends are so healthy,” Jennifer commented as she began to run sections of hair through her hands.

“I trim them myself regularly,” Hecate replied, her voice low with the gradual return of euphoria, “and I only use cleansing and conditioning potions that I have mixed myself.”

“There are potions for hair?” Jennifer’s hands paused their activity.

“Of course,” Hecate informed her. “There are potions for everything.”

“I feel like there’s so much to learn about the witching world, that even after years studying, there are still things I’ve never heard of.”

Hecate smiled kindly. “There are advancements in witchcraft that even I have yet to discover. Years in confinement meant that I could not attend all the conferences that I wished to—particularly those that dealt with more modern schools of thought. Cackle’s is a highly traditional academy, which does not make it much of a destination for leading minds in that field.”

Their conversation lulled as Jennifer began to massage her scalp, and Hecate lost her ability to string words together. She had been on the verge of mentioning Pippa Pentangle, but the name entirely escaped her as Jennifer worked her fingers over her temples and behind her ears, where she held so much of her tension.

“Curly today, I think,” Jennifer murmured softly. “Do you have a moisturising product with light hold—and perhaps a misting bottle?”

Hecate lazily undulated her fingers, and both appeared on the table before them. The spray hissed through the air, and Jennifer finger-combed the droplets through to dampen her hair just a touch, before taking a small amount of the product and rubbing it between her hands and distributing it though her damp curls.

“I can’t get over how beautiful your hair looks when it’s left natural,” Jennifer told her, scrunching the curls.

“I had never thought my hair looked neat enough to be acceptable when it was not magically straightened,” Hecate responded.

“Who made you think that?” Jennifer said, frowning.

“I think you can made an educated guess.”

Jennifer stroked Hecate’s cheek tenderly. “She was wrong. You don’t need to change anything about yourself.”

Damp, Hecate’s hair was a little easier to manipulate. Jennifer sectioned off several parts, careful not to disturb the natural curl pattern too much as she created a parting on the right, and began the process of twisting and pinning the sides up and away from her face.

Hecate realised that unlike last time they had been in this position, this time she did not have to conceal her feelings. Jennifer’s fingers brushed temptingly against her ear, granting a shudder of pleasure. She turned her head and met Jennifer’s left hand with her lips—then, taking her hand in her own, Hecate kissed the centre of her palm, then shifted the sleeve of her blouse just enough to expose her wrist and kissed there as well, causing a little intake of breath from Jennifer. 

“We could just leave your hair like this,” Jennifer suggested, cheeks pink from the touch of Hecate’s lips to her sensitive wrist. She showed her in the mirror how it was pinned back neatly from her face in the front, with the twisted sections forming volume with the deep natural waves of her hair—while the back hung freely in waves. Hecate had so rarely seen herself with a parting that she felt a slight disconnect between her mirror image and herself, but the effect was quite pleasant, she had to admit.

“Perhaps for practical reasons—”

Jennifer agreed quickly. “Yes, of course—whatever you need.”

Jennifer tilted Hecate’s head down and began to section out the hair falling down her back, and began to weaving it into a single thick plait. Hecate closed her eyes, feeling her hair tugging on her scalp gently where the plait connected at her nape. It was soothing to be under Jennifer’s control like this; she was fully absolved of any decisions or involvement beyond sitting still and calm, which were two activities—or rather, lack of activities—that Hecate rarely found herself capable of enjoying.

Jennifer secured the end of the plait with a tie, and then Hecate felt thin metal sliding against her scalp as the plait was pinned up her head and coiled into a spiralling twist on the back of her head. A great many more pins went into ensuring the twist stayed firmly in place, until finally, Jennifer declared it finished.

Hecate turned her head to see—the result was a very decorative, softened variant on her usual bun. Without her hair forcibly scraped back from her forehead, her face had a gentler appearance.

“I was going for a Victorian-inspired updo,” Jennifer said, making some minor adjustments. “I saw it in a video and it made me think of you.”

“It is gorgeous,” Hecate felt the words gush from her mouth, immediately feeling guilty for applying such a word to something attached to herself. 

“ _You_ are gorgeous. I just provided the adornment.”

Hecate merely bowed her head, and was unable to express her gratitude as Jennifer squeezed her shoulders.

* * *

Hecate waited nervously in the doorway of Jennifer’s room while she retrieved a camel-coloured wool peacoat and a soft white scarf. Her hair was causing her a little self-consciousness—even though she liked it a great deal, it was clearly quite different from her usual bun and she hoped it would not attract too much attention.

They had decided to take a walk through the grounds to refresh themselves. While Jennifer had been told where things were and had been briefly shown about, she had not had any official tour as such. Hence, Hecate simply had to take it upon herself to provide her with a personal walking tour of the grounds, since she was to be a full member of staff. It was, of course, entirely necessary to guide her through the halls, spouting nervous soliloquies over the history of the castle’s art collections and famous Old Girls and the legacies they left behind. She would have done the same for any new member of staff—although, she admitted, she would not have been tempted to slip her hand into theirs as she did with Jennifer Honey.

The tour soon took them outside, where the sun was only just showing behind a clouded sky. Hecate became quieter as she found fewer historical facts to fall back upon. She began to remark on the castle’s architecture, which became more difficult the further away they traversed from the main keep.

The sporting grounds were of least interest to Hecate, and she had little to comment on them—but hoped that Jennifer was enjoying the companionship on their walk as much as she was. They approached a somewhat rickety wooden structure that Hecate mentioned in passing was a broomshed.

“Oh—the broomshed,” Jennifer brightened, with a playful smile, already investigating the door and sliding it open.

“Contained therein are the standard student brooms for those who do not possess their own from home,” Hecate said dismissively. “They are all much the same—slightly different sizes for different aged pupils. Biddable enough.”

Jennifer’s hand lingered on the doorframe as she beckoned for Hecate to join her. “I’d love to see them.”

“You—you would?” Hecate asked, her voice high with confusion. Perhaps Jennifer wanted to try riding on a broom with her? “There is precious little of interest.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jennifer responded insistently.

Hecate was still uncertain of Jennifer’s meaning—student brooms were honestly rather dull compared with the staff brooms, and Hecate would much rather be able to show Jennifer the elegance of true broomstick craftsmanship in some of the lovely brooms that Ada and Dimity owned. Jennifer sighed airily and marched over to Hecate to take her hand and pull her gently inside—and Hecate realised that Jennifer’s interest in the broomshed had not been as much about the brooms when she found herself being pushed up against the wall and giving into the pleasures of Jennifer’s lips out of the sight of prying eyes.

“Now do you see my interest?” Jennifer murmured against her neck.

Hecate had turned quite pink. “I— it seems my initial assessment of the situation was— perhaps incorrect.”

Jennifer laughed softly, and let her fingers play against Hecate’s nape. “For someone so apparently self-possessed, you really are rather easy to fluster.”

“I— I—” Hecate stammered, her thought train coming to a premature halt as Jennifer’s touch took her quite elsewhere. “I am sorry.”

“Please stop apologising for having feelings. Your sensitivity is one of your most precious strengths,” Jennifer whispered, withdrawing her hand to give Hecate a reprieve. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you’ve been starting to show that.”

Hecate’s eyes swam with unshed tears. “Thank you, Jennifer.”

After a pause, Jennifer asked, “why do you call me Jennifer rather than Jenny?”

Hecate stiffened slightly, concerned that she was being criticised. “It is your name. Would you prefer me to call you— Jenny?” The name felt unfamiliar on her tongue.

Jennifer shook her head shyly, looking up at Hecate from behind her glasses. “I admit, hearing my full name spoken in your voice is frankly quite distracting.”

Hecate hesitated a moment before answering. “Oh, is it, Jennifer?”

Jennifer bit her lip in such a way that Hecate felt compelled to kiss her, and she stepped forward into the space Jennifer had relinquished. She bent down to meet Jennifer’s willing eagerness, her hand playing into the hair that was tucked behind her ear, mussing it gently as she stroked her nails against her sensitive nape—

“Hecate, what are you doing—?”

The words had not come out of Jennifer’s mouth. Hecate wheeled around in horror, letting go of Jennifer immediately as she saw Dimity, with a bundle of broomsticks under her arm.

“—Jenny?”

The broomsticks slowly clattered to the ground as realisation hit her.

“Miss Hardbroom was just—giving me a personal tour of the grounds,” Jennifer said demurely, tucking her hair back behind her ear. Hecate looked guiltily at the smear of her own lipstick on Jennifer’s mouth and thought it would be perhaps a little too obvious to attempt to do anything about that now.

Dimity’s eyebrows raised higher than Hecate had ever seen them go. “ _Personal_ tour. Right,” she said, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

Hecate felt her hands turn to ice.

“Just— be careful of splinters,” Dimity spluttered, levitating the jumble of broomsticks and sending them to their correct stands, before hastily leaving.

Hecate exhaled the tightness in her chest once Dimity had left them, a shaft of light flecked with dancing dust in the space she had vacated.

“Are you all right?”

Hecate closed her eyes and breathed. Of all the people to walk in on them, Dimity was somehow the most unwelcome. Having her emotional side exposed that way to Dimity, who clearly pictured Hecate as being very closed off in that sense, made Hecate feel vulnerable. It was not knowledge that Hecate wanted Dimity to have of her.

“My colleagues have an image of me, and I think that is about to change,” Hecate sighed. “It is not easy.”

Jennifer rubbed her back gently. “They’ll soon see that you’re the same Hecate Hardbroom. This is just a part of you that has yet to take flight, as it were.”

Hecate smiled weakly. It was not entirely reassuring—and Dimity’s comment about splinters was still getting under her skin, as it were.

“Speaking of taking flight,” Jennifer started to say, “what would you say to helping me with my fear of broomstick flying?”

Hecate blinked in surprise. “If that is something that you would like to do,” she said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. “You do not have to force yourself to do something that you fear out of any need to impress me.”

“With you, I know I don’t have anything to fear,” Jennifer replied, and kissed her cheek softly.

Just that slight touch of Jennifer’s lips on her cheek made her tingle all over. “If you will permit me, I will transfer us to the staff broomshed. The student brooms can be a little less comfortable.”

Hecate offered her arm to Jennifer, and was reminded of the last time they had transferred together. Jennifer must have recalled this too, for it was very shyly that she slipped her hand into the nook of Hecate’s elbow. The feel of Jennifer’s hip pressing against her own—while perhaps more deliberate this time—was no less sensual.

The sensation of Jennifer connected to her elbow and hip dissipated as their forms dematerialised. A myriad of their particles combined in a cloud—her sense of what was Jennifer and what was herself wavered as she let their forms co-mingle while they were carried through space, and she imagined that her magic was caressing through the elements of their bodies, stirring together what made each of them separate until they were one—until finally Hecate allowed their bodies to coalesce once more in the staff broomshed.

Jennifer staggered as she found her feet hit the ground, and Hecate tightened her grip on her to steady her. 

“That was—somehow even more incredible than the first time,” Jennifer said breathlessly, as Hecate drew her into both of her arms to allow her to ground herself. Jennifer softened against Hecate’s chest, resting her head on Hecate’s shoulder.

“I admit that I have never transferred with someone quite like that before,” Hecate responded, pink tinging over her sharp cheekbones. “I am sorry if it surprised you or was unwelcome.”

“Not at all.”

Glowing with pleasure, Hecate released Jennifer, checking her colour to make sure she was not about to keel over. She seemed more thrilled to see the brooms around them, now that she had realised where they now were. The staff broomshed was much more weatherproof than the student broomshed, and had its own lantern that had ignited on its own when they entered. There were much fewer broomsticks contained within, in a variety of wood types, lacquer, and many had charms and dried flowers woven through the tails for different enhancements, and some simply for adornment. Dimity had no fewer than sixteen different brooms in some rather garish colours, some reflecting old broomstick athletics teams that she had flown for, and some that had been awarded for her many successes in the Witch World Games. In pride of place was her gold Star of the Sky broom, which Hecate knew she kept well-polished so that none entering could possibly escape being blinded by its brilliant, blinding shine. Among the more sensibly coloured brooms was a shorter model for nimble speed flying, a long, very straight broom for long-distance flights, and her collapsing travel broom. It was an enormous quantity compared with everyone else’s—Gwendolyn had but one gnarled broom, preferring to keep her feet firmly on the ground these days, and Ada’s two brooms were both rather decorative—even her formal broom bore a painted pattern of pale pink tulips. And— leaning against one wall was Jennifer’s own bicycle, which Jennifer seemed surprised to see. Apparently Dimity had put it away without informing her of where precisely she had stored it.

“These are mine.” Hecate indicated three elegant, but comparatively plain brooms beside Ada’s. “I used to have one broom that I would use for most occasions, which I had had for a good twenty years, but then a tornado known as Mildred Hubble leapt upon me in the middle of the night while I was carrying it, and—it broke. She informed me that she believed I was an evil witch trying to take over the school.”

“And were you?” Jennifer said with a stifled laugh.

“Indeed I was not,” Hecate replied archly. “In the wake of that tragedy, two separate members of staff took it upon themselves to buy me a new broom. I had already ordered a replacement, so I ended up with this modest collection.”

Jennifer, with Hecate’s permission, touched each of Hecate’s brooms—Hecate did not think Dimity would take kindly to her own brooms being handled without her present—while Hecate found herself rambling about their properties.

Hecate was particularly fond of the sophisticated dark wood of the wenge broom with silver binding that Ada had generously gifted her—but it was one that she reserved for the most formal of occasions. The wood was incredibly dense, as she explained to Jennifer, which made for a better posture for parade flying and other occasions when one had to sit up straight for quite some time.

The next broom was the one she had ordered for herself. It was versatile, practical, and had just the right amount of pliability to the wood for agility and turning without sacrificing speed. She considered it a good workhouse broom, while being a great improvement over the student brooms, which tended to be made of less expensive materials owing to the fact that they were more likely to suffer damages from nervous novice flyers.

The third of the brooms was a longer model, standing the tallest of the three in the stand. It would suit their purpose well, since longer brooms tended to balance more easily, as well as being able to accommodate two riders. Hecate took this one from the stand, and they proceeded outside.

Now that Dimity had seen them together, Hecate was almost resigned to the news spreading throughout the school—she was thus far less concerned over the consequences of being seen, but still wished to maintain some degree of modesty. She led them beyond the walled training fields of the grounds, to a clearing that would only be visible to someone who was looking specifically out for them from one of the high towers, discussing advice for first-time flyers as they walked.

Hecate commanded her broom to hover at sitting height, and then demonstrated to a rather pale Jennifer the correct posture and form for riding side-saddle on the broomstick. Jennifer joined her, and Hecate placed her arm around her waist securely, feeling Jennifer tuck herself into her. 

“I can cast a spell on you so that it will be impossible for you to fall from the broom. We do not normally use such spells, as it prevents the flyer from learning proper balance and from using posture to guide the broomstick. However, since you will not be controlling the broom, and this exercise is to do with your fear more than anything—what do you think?”

“I’d like to try it with the spell first, if that’s all right,” Jennifer replied, her fingers tight around Hecate’s body.

Hecate muttered a few words, and let her magic bind around Jennifer. She blinked a few times as she adjusted to the change in her centre of gravity.

“To begin with, we will barely clear the ground. I will not raise the broomstick any higher than you are comfortable with,” Hecate assured her. “Are you ready?”

Jennifer’s head nodded against her shoulder. “Yes.”

Hecate raised the broomstick a few inches from the grass, such that if Jennifer wanted, she could point her toes and feel the ground. 

“How does that feel?” Looking down at Jennifer, she saw that her eyes were tightly shut. The edge of her round glasses pressed against her left shoulder, while her right shoulder was caught in the tight grip of Jennifer’s hand.

“Jennifer?” Hecate could feel Jennifer’s pulse thumping against her side. “Do you want to stop?”

“No, please continue,” Jennifer said quietly. 

“I will carry us a little forward and then stop. All right?”

Jennifer nodded. Hecate acclimatised her to the feeling of motion, at barely more than a walking pace, on the broomstick, before asking if she wanted a break. Jennifer shook her head—she said, “if I stop now, I don’t think I’ll want to get back on today.” She was adamant that they should continue, and Hecate did not wish to disagree with her.

Hecate raised the broomstick slightly, bracing herself against the tightening grip around her. It was both endearing and slightly concerning—for while balance was not a worry for Jennifer, Hecate still had to keep herself steady, which was much more of a challenge when there was someone hanging onto her for dear life.

Hecate glanced over to Jennifer, whose gaze was turned such that she could only see down, where her shoes were dangling in mid-air a full foot above the ground.

“Look at me.”

Jennifer snapped out of her reverie, and turned her fearful face towards Hecate. 

“Jennifer, are you certain this is what you want to do?”

A ghost of a smile twitched at her mouth. “Yes.”

“Instruct me where you wish to go.”

Jennifer was quiet for a little while, but gradually began to gain in confidence as her wavering words brought them closer to the tree line, away from the castle. By this point they were three feet above the ground, and Jennifer seemed to be almost starting to enjoy the feeling of forward motion. 

She was still adhered to Hecate’s side—but in brief moments she seemed less frightened and even loosened her hold a little. Hecate kept her left arm around her waist, hoping that it would make her feel safe.

“The forest is ahead, but we cannot fly through it. We could go back towards the castle—”

“What if— we went higher?”

“We can certainly do that,” Hecate said, suppressing her surprise. “Tell me when you wish to stop.”

Hecate tentatively raised the broom further up, so that they were in line with the lowest branches. The smell of damp wood was rich at this level.

“Keep going,” Jennifer’s voice told her, sure but slightly weak.

It was then that Hecate discovered there was nothing she had ever known to be more distracting than Jennifer clinging to her and whispering, “higher,” at intervals in her ear, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end.

Hecate attempted to keep her head while dutifully commanding the broom to go higher, until they had fully cleared the height of the trees. The wind was picking up a little, whipping around them as they made their ascent—but huddled together on the broom with Jennifer, Hecate found that the chill was barely affecting her.

“You are doing so well,” Hecate murmured, kissing her forehead.

Hecate guided the broomstick towards the raised land where the trees of the spell circle were visible. She told Jennifer that they would go that far before taking a break, and Jennifer nodded against her shoulder. “There is also something there that I wish to share with you,” Hecate raised her voice against the wind.

Careful not to descend too quickly, Hecate flew down at a shallow angle and touched down gently just outside the perimeter of the circle. As soon as her shoes made contact with the grass, Hecate helped Jennifer from the broom, retracting her protective spell, ready to catch her if she stumbled. Jennifer seemed a little shaken to be on solid ground, and held onto Hecate for a moment. Hecate rested her cheek on Jennifer’s head, letting her breathing match Jennifer’s as it slowed down to a normal pace.

“That was— incredible, but quite terrifying, to be honest.”

Hecate stroked and smoothed the back of Jennifer’s hair, which had become mussed somewhat by the flight. “Was that your first time on a broomstick?”

“No, but definitely the longest. Matilda took me on her broom once but I was far too scared to go more than a foot off the ground. And Pippa— she managed to persuade me one time, but that was quite awkward in a few ways.”

Hecate elected not to comment.

“Matilda will be so impressed when she hears I’ve been so high on a broomstick.” Jennifer smiled, still dazed from the exhilaration of her flight.

“I would love to meet her sometime,” Hecate said, releasing Jennifer from her arms and slipping her hand down into Jennifer’s. 

“You’ll hardly be able to keep her away from you, I’m sure,” Jennifer laughed. “You could stay with us over the summer holiday. We have a huge house with a lovely garden.” Jennifer’s turned her face to the crag, and her expression was soft but distant, as if picturing her house in her mind.

A shaft of sunlight, suddenly breaking the clouds as a gust of wind parted them, cut across Jennifer’s face, making her skin and dark brown eyes glow gold. Her eyelashes shaded against the light—Hecate wished she could stay in that moment forever—watching Jennifer look out across the landscape Hecate had known for decades, seeing it through eyes that had not known it with the pangs of painful love that she had.

“I would love to,” Hecate said, squeezing Jennifer’s hand. _But_ — Inside, she quivered slightly at the prospect of staying with Jennifer—it was not that she did not wish to, by any means—the thought of leaving Cackle’s made her heart feel weak.

Perhaps Jennifer sensed her unspoken reluctance, for she continued, “the house is so big that you can’t hear what’s happening on the other side sometimes. So, if you wanted to get on with some work, you’d still be able to.”

“It could be beneficial to spend some time doing work in different environs. However, that is not what concerns me. You recall when I said that it was never solely my punishment that kept me confined here.”

“I do,” Jennifer said gently, lifting her face to Hecate’s. “I don’t want to pressure you, of course. Maybe it’s something we could try to build up to. I’ll have to take you on little outings to the local village. Would that be something you think you could try?”

“For you, I could try,” Hecate responded, bowing her head in a humble nod.

Even with their fingers laced together, both of their hands still felt cold now that they were on the ground and had been standing about for a while. Hecate smiled to herself before letting a warmth spell pass down through the tips of her fingers into Jennifer’s hand as she lead Jennifer into the spell circle.

“Was— was that your magic?” 

Hecate smiled bashfully. “It was.”

“There are definitely advantages to having a witch for a girlfriend,” Jennifer said, her cheeks glowing behind her glasses.

 _Girlfriend_ , Hecate repeated in her head. The term had seemed appropriate for when she and Pippa Pentangle had been young, but as a grown woman, it caught her off-guard. Her initial reluctance turned to thrill, the more she thought on it. “So it would seem.”

“What was it that you wanted to show me here?”

Hecate brought her to the very centre of the spell circle, where her hands fizzed with energy—the active effect of her warmth spell intensified as her own magic became amplified. 

“When last we were here, even though we had only known each other a short while— perhaps it is foolish to tell you at all.” Hecate broke their eye contact. The wind rustled through the bare branches of the trees about them.

Jennifer took Hecate’s hands, and faced her properly. “Hecate— if you want to say something, you should say it.”

“I do not know that it would be something you wish to hear.”

“If you want to tell me that last time we were here, you wanted to kiss me— then that is definitely something I wish to hear,” Jennifer said boldly, her eyes alight with challenge.

Hecate flushed. She almost felt too self-conscious now that Jennifer had taken the words from her mind and laid them out bare to the world. “Very well. When I brought you here the first time—aside from encouraging your academic interest in spatial magic, I found myself entranced by the idea of what it would be like to know you more intimately, as only those privileged enough to be a part of your life would—and I did indeed wonder what it would be like if we were to— share a kiss.”

Jennifer’s eyes had dimmed to softly glowing embers as she spoke, “how did you manage to say that far more beautifully than I could have imagined?”

“Because I was thinking of you, and you are far more beautiful a person than I could ever have hoped to be worthy of loving.” Hecate could not explain why, but tears started to weigh on her lower eyelashes, until they spilled over and ran in cold trails down her face. 

“Hecate—” Jennifer said in the barest of whispers, “you are more than worthy, and— I love you, too.”

Jennifer closed the distance between them and kissed her cheeks to stop the tears where they fell, before meeting her lips, adamant, her hand cupping Hecate’s face. Hecate felt her magic waxing as they kissed, drawing from the trees in formation about them—her normally astute control faltered and she felt energy extending outside of herself—strumming at formless strings in the air, reverberating like sound in her lips as she kissed Jennifer Honey.

As they broke apart, for a moment she could see nothing but Jennifer’s eyes gazing into her own— but then she was startled out of her wits when all about them, the formerly naked trees were in full leaf, and sprinkled all over with pale pink blossoms—almost white—that had already begun to be buffeted about them in the strong January winds.

“I— I must have— lost control,” Hecate said, aghast at the unseasonable blossoms surrounding them in a whirl of snow-like petals. “This— this should not have happened.”

“You lost control in the most wonderful way, Hecate,” Jennifer said, blossom catching in her hair as she beamed up at Hecate. “You instinctively made the grove come to life— with your love for me. That’s so— _magical_. I feel like I’m in a fairytale.”

“I hope the trees’ natural cycles have not been disturbed by my foolish mistake.” Hecate frowned, wanting to see the romantic side, but unable to prevent herself worrying. “My error was amplified by the power of the spell circle. This could have been catastrophic.”

“We’ll just have to come back in the spring and kiss here again,” Jennifer said, shrugging, with a playful bite of her lip. “And you were right—the blossoms of the forest _are_ the most beautiful colours.”

Hecate recalled the foolish comment she had made last time they were here, and flushed to think that Jennifer had committed her words to memory. “Indeed.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, why do you wear this?” Jennifer touched a delicate finger to the pocket watch hanging around Hecate’s neck.

“I inherited it from my mother.”

“You keep it close to your heart. She was very important to you,” Jennifer said softly. Her thumb traced the cool metal casing; somehow it made her feel like Jennifer was holding Hecate’s entire fragile self in her hand.

“She was. Do you have anything from your mother?”

“Nothing quite so elegant—a doll with a china face I call Lissy doll. I was so young when she died that I suppose she never really had the chance to leave me much in the way of physical gifts, but emotionally—” Jennifer smiled sadly, “—I don’t remember much of her, but I have some memories of being held that I attribute to her.”

Hecate gathered Jennifer in her arms and pressed her closely to her. Part of what Jennifer had said also rang true with her—it was many moons ago that she had lost her mother, and while she had been old enough to have known her, some of the distinct memories that she had dwelt in as a child had now faded in the haze of decades blurred together—amongst the many changing faces of the students she had taught, her recollection of her mother’s image became softer and softer around the edges—the markings of her face less distinct—until Hecate had to look at the portrait she had of her in her room to remind herself of the face of the mother who had loved her. Hecate felt fortunate to have the sting of these memories; she held tightly onto Jennifer, who remembered very little but craved affection no less for that fact.

* * *

They decided to walk back through the woods, the same path they had taken only a week ago. It seemed like far more time had passed than merely a week; Hecate regretted that she had wasted so much time creating as much space as she could between herself and Jennifer, and the thought of the way she had made herself unavailable when Jennifer had sought her companionship in the evenings was practically an embarrassment to her now. Hecate was beyond relieved that that was all behind them now—and by the way Jennifer held her hand, so was she.

As Hecate led her back through the forest, she asked Jennifer if she had given any further thought to her teaching post at Cackle’s, and whether she had considered a curriculum as yet. Jennifer spoke of the folio that she had put forward to Pippa Pentangle, and that she had been thinking of adapting it to fit better with Cackle’s ethos—after, of course, she had had a meeting with both Hecate and Ada to discuss the objectives in offering this new subject and how best to implement them seamlessly. This, Hecate thought as she walked, listening to Jennifer enthuse about teaching while holding her hand, was definitely one of the reasons why she knew Ada had made an excellent choice in deciding to hire her.

By the time they returned to the castle, and ascended the teachers’ tower, Jennifer admitted she was quite tired. Hecate bade her sit in the armchair while her attention was momentarily drawn by a creamy white rectangle on her bureau, guarded by a sleepy Morgana.

The folded note—sitting under Morgana’s paw as she dozed, coiled up—looked innocuous enough. Morgana gave a stretch and yawn after Hecate woke her with a gentle kiss to her soft head, and then through groggy eyes, conveyed the feeling to Hecate that the note should not be shown to Jennifer. Hecate glanced over at Jennifer, whose head was resting against one of the wings of the chair, her glasses in her lap. Morgana leapt off the bureau with a _plop_ and padded over to Jennifer’s available lap.

_Hecate,_

_I’ve received word from the Great Wizard and The Magic Council in reference to your letter. They’ve agreed that upon Miss Honey’s instatement as a teacher at Cackle’s, they will permit her to be registered with the Board of Education as the first official non-magical teacher of not only non-witching, but also witching subjects. This will give her the authority to teach in whichever area she wishes._

_I hope to make the announcement tonight at dinner, so if you could possibly stand to let this encroach upon your evening plans, I would be most humble and grateful._

_Ada_

_PS: Dimity knows._

Hecate’s eyes widened. She had not expected a response to the correspondence she had sent only last night so quickly. While Julie Hubble had been at least accepted by the Council as a non-magical art teacher, this was an enormous step for the Council. She quickly blinked away her surprise and vanished the note from her hand as Jennifer looked at her with curiosity, unable to be fully distracted by the silken-furred cat settled on her skirt.

“Something wrong?”

Hecate shook her head. “No, only—Ada has requested our presence tonight at dinner. It seems we shall have to interrupt our plans.” It was not a lie, but still Hecate felt uncomfortable withholding the full details from Jennifer. To maintain the surprise, however, it would be necessary to keep up the charade.

“Oh,” Jennifer said with some disappointment, running a hand over Morgana’s purring form. “I was hoping to be able to sample some more of your cooking.”

“Perhaps another time,” Hecate responded, incredibly flattered that Jennifer thought her cooking worth wanting to sample. “And of course, if you like, there is more of that leftover tart for dessert.”

“That sounds perfect,” Jennifer said, burying her hand in Morgana’s soft fur. 

While they were on the topic of food, Hecate noted that it was almost time for luncheon. It was certainly not an excuse for Hecate to continue fussing around Jennifer and not sit down—part of her was lacking in confidence over her unworthiness to spend time around such a wonderful woman—that she was imposing upon her. They had already spent the morning together—surely Jennifer was by now tiring of her presence? 

However, Jennifer was all too happy to join her for lunch, and partake in the crusty loaf Hecate had baked for them, accompanied by an array of cheeses and antipasti from the staffroom coolbox. Hecate felt all too fortunate to be able to share the day with Jennifer, and told her as much.

“I feel the same way,” Jennifer said ardently, as Hecate used her magic to clear their lunch things away. “What would you like to do with the time we have before the evening? 

Hecate blanched. “I confess I— did not have any ideas. I am sorry, I feel as though my lack of foresight—”

“Hecate,” Jennifer said, putting her hand on Hecate’s arm. “Stop. You don’t have to constantly try to entertain me with activities.”

“But I—”

“Come on,” Jennifer said, scooping up Morgana from her lap as she stood up and cradling her like an infant. “I’ve got an idea.”

Hecate followed Jennifer wordlessly towards the door, down the corridor, and through to Jennifer’s room, feeling as though she had done something incorrect.

Morgana peered around from Jennifer’s arms at the room, which Hecate noted was now even more homely, with the drawings her students had done for her up around the walls—the huge card on the chest of drawers—and the little crocheted witch’s hat on the dressing table beside a bottle of perfume oil.

Jennifer turned to her. With Morgana looking particularly adorable in her arms, Hecate was ready to melt. “How would you feel about having some quiet reading time, just the two of us?”

Hecate hesitated. “I did not bring a book with me. Should I—?” She raised her hand as if to summon one from her chambers.

“You can read one of my favourite books,” Jennifer said, carrying Morgana over to the bookcase, where she had a small selection of well-loved novels. Morgana by now had closed her eyes contentedly, and was snuggled into Jennifer’s chest. Holding Morgana in one arm, she slid out a light-coloured paperback novel with orange lettering, and carried it over to Hecate.

Hecate accepted the book from her, and looked down somewhat indifferently at the title.

“I think I mentioned it the other day,” Jennifer explained. “With the cat familiar, who I named Vinegar after.”

“If it is one of your favourites, then I look forward to seeing what captures your imagination.”

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” Jennifer replied hastily. “Just give it a few chapters and see what you think.”

To Hecate’s bewilderment, Jennifer sat on the side of the bed, removed her shoes, and swung her legs up over the duvet. Morgana escaped from her arms, and stalked off to the end of the bed to lick herself.

“We can get cosy.” Jennifer’s coy smile was rather inviting. “But only if you’re comfortable with that.”

Hecate cautiously took the other side from Jennifer, unbuttoned her boots, and slipped herself fully onto the bed, taking _Lolly Willowes_ with her. 

Jennifer patted her lap—at first, Hecate thought she was trying to summon Morgana, but realised that she meant it for her. “Why don’t you put your head here on my lap so I can play with your hair while you read?”

“Do you not wish to read too?”

“I can read over your shoulder.”

Hecate—awkwardly at first—shuffled her body further down the bed so she could curl up with her head in Jennifer’s lap. She was woefully unused to this kind of position, but as she placed her cheek against the warmth of Jennifer’s lap, it felt so right somehow that she felt her weariness leaving immediately. She felt the pins being slid out from the back of her hair, and the plait gradually being taken down, and then unwound.

“Is this all right?” Jennifer whispered, as her palm brushed tenuously from Hecate’s cheek, over her ear, and down the length of her hair.

“Yes.” 

Her hand held the book so that it was resting against Jennifer’s knee. The cotton sheets underneath her were cool and pleasant. Morgana soon joined them, coiled up somewhere Hecate could not see from her position.

Hecate thought that it would be polite to read a few chapters, to save Jennifer from becoming bored, but she felt so drawn into the pages—and the sensation of her hair being stroked and passed through Jennifer’s hands was so relaxing that she found herself almost wholly diverted from her own thoughts.

There were parts of the novel she thought a little unrealistic, considering that it was supposed to be about a witch. Hecate kept her feelings on that matter to herself—she could hardly expect this Ordinary writer to know every detail on witches—and the writing itself was otherwise engaging, and the plot charming.

It was a little while before Hecate realised she had just come back into consciousness—Jennifer’s leg once more felt solid and warm beneath her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see that the book had closed over her thumb.

“You must have been tired,” Jennifer said, apparently noticing she had woken, stroking a hand back over her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“I— I was,” Hecate admitted, righting herself and sitting upright again. Her head was wrapped in a fog. “And— a little disoriented.”

Jennifer shifted from the bed beside her and slipped her shoes back on. “I’ll make some tea before we go down to dinner.”

“Thank you, Jennifer,” Hecate gratefully said.

* * *

Jennifer poured her a cup of darjeeling. Heat shimmered pleasantly in the air from the surface of the amber liquid. Hecate sipped at it, and set it down on Jennifer’s dressing table as she stood behind her, binding her hair back into the former style while Hecate, still glued to _Lolly Willowes_ , drank in every word she could.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the book,” Jennifer said, kissing her cheekbone.

Hecate closed the book, suddenly aware that she was paying more attention to the book than Jennifer—and felt guilty at her neglect. “I can see why it is one of your favourites. It uses witchcraft as a metaphor for women’s independence.”

Jennifer nodded to her in the mirror, a pleased look on her face. “Yes, precisely.”

Once they were both ready, and after they had finished their restorative cup of tea, Jennifer and Hecate descended to the Great Hall together. Jennifer had suggested that Hecate could go ahead if she chose, but Hecate had refused—of those who would even notice them arriving together, Ada certainly was already aware, and Dimity now knew. The girls would indubitably theorise over it in time, as they had done on many other occasions on relationships between their teachers. She felt more self-conscious over the difference in her hairstyle rather than the matter of her relationship with Miss Honey.

However, they did unlink hands as they arrived at the foot of the teachers’ tower, and proceeded onwards merely standing next to each other, Hecate suddenly feeling very warm in the face as she realised that she had forgotten to kiss Jennifer one last time before they appeared in public—but it was too late now.

They took their places at the teachers’ table in the Great Hall just as a swarm of third years were sent down and gawped as they passed Hecate, with whispers of “did you see Miss Hardbroom’s _hair_?” and “how did she get it to look so _nice_?” Hecate and Jennifer exchanged meaningful looks—Hecate bashful, and Jennifer mischievous.

Dimity soon arrived with another batch of students ferried down from the dormitories, and, while chivvying them into their places, stared between Jennifer and Hecate with that same look of incredulity she had worn earlier.

Once all the teachers and students had arrived, Ada stood, and drew the attention of all present by tapping her glass with a spoon. The girls, evidently hungry, groaned at the prospect of having to listen to one of their headmistress’s speeches.

“Silence,” Hecate cut in sharply. She did not want anything to spoil this moment for Jennifer.

“You may have noticed that Miss Honey has not departed from our ranks yet,” Ada began, a broad grin creasing her homely face. “It is my great pleasure to announce that she will be becoming a permanent member of staff—part-time until September, at which point she will become a full-time teacher.”

A chorus of delighted murmurs, followed by a round of enthusiastic applause broke out across the hall. Miss Honey stood, turned to face the students, and nodded her gratitude to the students with a smile that Hecate thought would undo her entirely. 

Ada waited until the clapping subsided before continuing. “It is not often that a non-magical person as unique as Miss Honey is accepted so warmly in the hallowed halls of magical academies. As many of you may be aware, Miss Honey has successfully taught in many schools just like ours all over the country. We are delighted to reveal that in accordance with The Magic Council’s protocols, Miss Hardbroom and I have encouraged the Great Wizard to approve Miss Honey as an officially registered magical teacher with the Board of Education, meaning that she will be able to teach freely in any magical school, and in any subject she wishes, without needing to prove her competence. But we hope she will stay with us, since she has really become part of the Cackle’s family.”

Jennifer’s face was one of shock and surprise as loud cheering and thunderous applause erupted from the girls and the staff. She looked around at the other staff—to Hecate, who nodded to confirm it—and then lit up with unbridled elation and pressed her fingers to her blushing face.

Standing once again, Jennifer “I’m absolutely delighted to be staying at Cackle’s, as I’ve rather become attached to this lovely old castle. I’d like to extend a huge thank you to all the students—you’ve all been such a pleasure to teach—and to the staff, who really have done all they can to make sure I feel at home here.” 

Jennifer was beaming so brightly that Hecate had to purse her lips against a smile. She did still have a reputation to maintain—but that did not prevent the tears of joy coming to her eyes as she saw how happy Jennifer was, as she finally turned her gaze onto her.

* * *

Following a surprisingly not awful roast dinner, they retired for a celebratory drink of witches’ brew with the staff in the staff room, at which Jennifer squealed with delight at Ada at the expediency of her request and how overwhelmed and overjoyed she was, while Hecate stood proudly by her side, now unable to conceal her smile. Ada brushed off the praise and said it was all Hecate’s doing. Jennifer flashed a dangerously smouldering look Hecate’s way, at which, Hecate had to bury her face into her goblet of witches’ brew to avoid kissing her in the midst of the entire staff.

Dimity cornered them later, and looked between them, still utterly bewildered. “Look, if either of you hurts the other, I’m going to have to—” Dimity shook her head and sighed, before drawing them both into a huge hug. Hecate had been standing so stiffly that she almost tipped over, and Jennifer caught her around the waist in such a way that Hecate felt herself melt in Jennifer’s embrace and could not help pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Nothing to see here—” Dimity said, clearing her throat as she went a confusing shade of red and edged away.

Perhaps the witches’ brew—or perhaps being completely and utterly in love with Jennifer Honey—had gone to her head, because they both laughed at Dimity’s embarrassment. Across the room, Ada tipped her head towards the door, permitting them to leave. 

Not wishing to waste another minute, Hecate transferred the both of them away as her lips pressed against Jennifer’s, heedless of who was there to witness their hasty departure.

* * *

In Hecate’s sitting room, Jennifer staggered against Hecate as they found themselves reforming in the dim lighting.

“Hecate, you are the most wonderful person—”

“You know that I think the same of you, Jennifer.” Hecate blazed with pride. “You deserve the best.”

“That’s why I have you,” Jennifer returned, and silenced Hecate’s protests with another kiss.

Since they were both a little giddy from the witches’ brew—neither of them drank regularly at all—Hecate proposed some tea—“Only if you get another armchair in here. You’ve survived with one for long enough,” Jennifer replied. Hecate sagely accepted her condition, and after lighting the fire, summoned one of the armchairs from Jennifer’s room to go opposite her own. It would be a temporary fix until she could get one to match better.

“I’m so glad it was you and Ada, and not Pippa Pentangle, who managed to secure my registration with the Board of Education,” Jennifer said, leaning back into her armchair as Morgana took up residence in her lap, swishing her tail against her face until she received the requisite number of strokes to settle down.

“Your official certification will be in the post soon,” Hecate remarked in what she hoped passed off as a casual tone, despite her excitement. “I always had my suspicions that Miss Pentangle’s interest in you was more than academic when I first heard that she had taken you under her wing. Perhaps that was uncharitable of me.”

“Well, she certainly tried,” Jennifer said, sighing. “She was very persistent. A lovely person, but not for me.”

After a moment of searching for a new topic, Hecate’s mind fell upon the crocheted witch’s hat she had seen on Jennifer’s dressing table earlier. “Now that you are going to stay here, I think perhaps our first outing should be bringing Vinegar to live with you here.”

Jennifer frowned. “I thought non-magical cats didn’t get on with familiars.”

“I have never heard such a thing. Even if it were true, I doubt very much that Morgana would be upset having a new friend.”

“They would be very cute together,” Jennifer smiled fondly. “I hope we can try that soon, but obviously I don’t want to pressure you.”

“On that note—” Hecate started, her voice faltering. “I— I wondered if you would like to— spend the night tonight.”

Jennifer almost choked on her tea. “D—do you mean—?”

Hecate’s eyes widened as she realised that her words might carry some meaning that she had not intended. “Only— only sleeping in the literal sense—if that is not too disappointing a prospect for you.”

Jennifer’s face softened. “Hecate, I’d love to share a bed with you. How can I convince you that you’re never going to disappoint me?”

Hecate’s mind reeled with the weight of what she had just proposed—and was already picturing all the ways in which she would inevitably make this awkward. She hoped desperately that Morgana would not climb over Jennifer’s face in the early hours of the morning.

Hecate suddenly realised Jennifer was waiting for her answer, and muttered, “I am sorry.”

Jennifer shook her head. “Hecate. No apologies. Please take all the time you need. Emotional healing is rarely linear, but try to remember that I’ll be here with you, supporting you.”

Hecate looked over Jennifer—the way her fingers folded around her tea cup—the way she stroked Morgana—the way her heartbreakingly beautiful eyes looked at her from behind her round glasses—and wondered if Jennifer knew just how precious a person she was.

“Would you like some more tea?” Jennifer’s voice danced across her thoughts.

Hecate thanked Jennifer, who poured tea into Hecate’s waiting cup. Jennifer slid over the jar of honey to her as well, before remembering that Hecate never took her tea sweetened—she made as if to take it back, but thinking of the honey that she had often tasted in Jennifer’s kisses, Hecate’s hand closed over hers on top of the jar.

Jennifer looked questioningly as Hecate opened the jar and put a modest-sized spoon into her tea cup.

“You know, I had never really liked honey,” Hecate said with a smile, the spoon clinking against the inside of her tea cup as she stirred the viscous golden honey into her tea. “Until quite recently.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look it's my first ever finished multichapter fic!! am i a real fic writer now???????????
> 
> this was the "we can have little a gay, as a treat" chapter i hope you liked it!!
> 
> thank you all for coming on this self-indulgent journey with me!
> 
> THIS honeybroom story may be over, but i will definitely be unable to resist doing more.
> 
> in case you missed it, i did a honeybroom valentine drabble last week [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710841/chapters/54276130), and it follows on from this
> 
> thank you for reading my words  
> heathcliff  
> @heathtrash on tumblr and twitter


End file.
